


Mercy

by willyoushutup



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Back-Stabbing, Betrayal, Blood and Gore, F/M, Kinda asoiaf au, M/M, Slow Build, cool swords
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2018-11-04 02:22:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10981365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willyoushutup/pseuds/willyoushutup
Summary: King Zeus is a tyrant who kills Maria di Angelo, widow of Lord Hades. Nico rebels against the king and hence against Jason. Back-stabbing, betrayal and blood shed ensues.Basically GoT with Riordan characters and without the Dorne fuck-up.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be slightly complicated (duh, it was inspired by A Song of Ice and Fire). Constructive criticism is appreciated.

The prince stood poised at the head of the table. A large sheepskin map sprawled in front of him, several hellhounds marking enemy camps. His army outnumbered them three to one, but the rival lord had never lost a war in his short life.

  
“The soldiers are getting restless, my lord,” said Lord Leonidas. “We have been staying here for two weeks. They need some fresh blood. There have been three deaths in drunken brawls during the past two days.”

  
“The Zhangs and the Solaces cannot be expected to maintain the peace, my lord,” agreed Lady Reyna.

  
“What do you propose we do, my lady?” asked the prince, his eyes like chips of ice. “The Jacksons have refused to return the ravens sent to them. Lord Perseus may yet seek revenge for his brother’s death. Even if he does not, they will not take kindly to us invading the Shorelands.”

  
“I have seen your victory in the flames,” said the Red Priest, Octavian of Lys.

  
Everyone in the room turned to look at the prince with expectant eyes. He was Prince Jason of House Grace, the Shield of the Skylands and the Young Eagle. King Zeus was the Lord of the Three Kingdoms but no one accused him of being the Protector of the Realm. It had always fallen on Jason to clean up the messes his lord father left.

  
“Lord Nico may be young but he is not stupid. He knows the odds as well as us. He will not face us in open battle,” snapped Jason to their faces.

  
“M’lord,” squeaked a voice from the entrance of the tent.

  
“Speak up, child,” said Ser Michael Kahale, not unkindly.

  
“It’s the envoy, m’lord. The one who went to the Shorelands. He has come back,” said the servant boy.

  
“He is to come here at once,” commanded Jason, rounding on the frightened boy.

  
“Yes, m’lord,” said the boy and scampered off.

  
By the time the envoy reached the tent, a quarrel had broken out amongst the petty lords and Jason’s head had started feel like it was going to implode.

  
“MY LORDS,” shouted Lady Reyna, effectively shutting everyone up. “Be conscious of your company.”

  
“Give the man some mead,” Jason said to his cupbearer, a Solace girl of one-and-ten.

  
The man in front of him looked famished and exhausted. He seemed like he was about to fall asleep on his feet. His dark skin was grimy, his clothes reduced to rags. He guzzled the mead given to him in one go and said, “Thank you, my lord.”

  
Jason nodded at him and asked, “What is your name?”

  
“I am Charles Valdez, my lord,” he said, glancing at Lord Valdez.

  
“Well met, cousin,” acknowledged Lord Valdez, his tone suggesting he had never met the man in his life.

  
“What news of the Jacksons, Charles?” Jason inquired, his impatience bubbling to the surface.

  
“The di Angelo envoys were already there when I got to Sea Harbour. They are looking to seal their alliance with the Jacksons with a marriage. The Lady Chase herself came with their envoy,” said Charles, his eyes darting from person to person. “I am sorry, my lord, but we were too late. Lady Bianca di Angelo is to marry Lord Perseus one moon’s turn hence.”

* * *

  
That night when Jason went to bed, he pictured what would happen if they were to lose to the Shadowlanders. They were rumoured to be strange people worshipping their strange gods who rose from under the earth and could travel through shadows. No one had ever conquered the Shadowlands by combat.

  
Ancient myths told a tale of how three brothers had come to a new land where no man had ever come before. They were the ones who had created the Three Kingdoms- the Skylands, the Shorelands and the Shadowlands. The three kingdoms had flourished under their individual rulers for many years until King Jupiter of House Grace. He divested the other rulers of their thrones and proclaimed himself Lord of the Three Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.

  
But he had a dragon, thought Jason, and I don’t see any dragons here.

  
If Lord Perseus got married to Lady Bianca, they were sure to lose the war. Then, his father would lose his head and more importantly, his throne. Jason would also lose his head and his beautiful lady wife would never forgive him. She was back at Olympus, with his lord father and he could only pity her.

  
He shifted and turned in his uncomfortable, cold tent and thought of Lady Piper, with her beautiful multi-coloured eyes and kind smile. He thought of his wretched father who had killed Lady Maria di Angelo when she had refused to let him bed her young niece. He thought of Lord di Angelo, her son who had started a war to avenge his mother’s death.  
Prince Jason Grace lay in his cold tent bed and thought about how wrong his father was and how wrong his side was and he wished to be back in his bed in the Gold Keep with Piper by his side .

 

He remembered a time when he thought his father could do no wrong. His belief had been shattered like an egg dropped on a stone floor. The King deserved to be hanged for his treasons. He was a sot, a drunk and a rapist. But, he was the most powerful man in the Three Kingdoms and no one had the courage to stand up to him, not even Jason; until Nico’s Rebellion.

  
Jason could not, would not fight for a treacherous king and a kingdom which howled for blood. Only one path seemed clear to him.

* * *

  
The trees overhead shivered in the cold winds. To Jason they seemed to whisper, about things of times long past and of times still to come. It was eerie in the clump of trees but the sword at his hip grounded him with its familiar weight.

  
The darkness around him rippled like it was a living thing. The rustling leaves and the deep shadows created a gateway to another world in front of him. He wondered whether he was in presence of the gods of the Shadowlanders.

  
Approaching footsteps broke him out of his reverie. Two hooded figures walked towards him in the gloom, their gait stealthy, their movements graceful. They stopped not two feet away from Jason and one of them spoke up.

  
“Why were we called here?” asked a male voice.

  
“Ser Michael, Lady Reyna, I am glad you were hasty,” whispered Jason.

  
“Why the secrecy, my lord?” queried Lady Reyna, her voice pitched low, her armour glistening in the moonlight.

  
“I trust both of you with my life and now I am trusting you with my heart,” said Jason, his voice steady in spite of his erratic heartbeat. “You are to rescue Lady Piper from the Gold Keep.”

  
Ser Michael let out a sharp gasp of surprise. “But that would mean she was a captive, my lord.”

  
“You cannot mean....” trailed off Lady Reyna, her eyes flashing.

  
“Yes, I am saving the realm,” said Jason decisively. “And you will save my wife.”


	2. Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy's perspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The age gap between them is the same but Percy is 23. So Nico is 21.  
> Hope you like the new chapter :)

Lady Annabeth Chase was one of the most infuriating ladies that Lord Perseus had ever met. The Chases were the chief allies of the di Angelos, so he could not afford to offend her; but at the rate at which he was grinding his teeth at her, his ability to eat solids was at peril.

  
Lady Chase sparred with one of Percy’s knights in the courtyard of his keep and all the pageboys, squires and cupbearers forgot about their jobs and gathered to watch.

  
Her golden armour glimmered brightly matching her golden hair. Her half-and-half sword flicked and rang against her opponents. She was fast, very fast, she never seemed to remain at one place. Her style of fighting was not completely Westerosi, foreign moves sneaking into her form every now and then. Her sparring partner, Ser Castor Vine, was a good fighter; but now he was sweating under his armour. He was a large man with a heavy greatsword. He was tiring quickly. His slashes grew slower while Lady Annabeth’s grew ever faster, if that was possible. She feigned an attack at his legs and as his hands slurred to parry the strike, she disarmed him in a lightning quick stroke.

  
The crowd around them erupted into cheers.

  
Oh, good, thought Percy. As if she didn’t have enough reasons to be cocky about.

  
But outwardly he settled for a polite clap. The lady in question had planted her sword in the ground and was grinning at the crowd. As he watched, she turned to him and curtseyed mockingly. Even from the balcony where he was standing, he could see her grey eyes shining with glee. He smiled tightly at her and thanked his stars that she was not to be his lady wife.

  
Ser Grover Underwood who standing next to him started to open his mouth.

  
“If you are going to make a bawdy jape, I would prefer it if you kept it to yourself,” said Percy.

  
“I wasn’t....” scoffed Grover.

  
“Would you like me to tell Juniper about that time you fell into a creek because you were afraid of a bee?” asked Percy.

  
“It was a HORNET, Percy,” Grover said, looking around as if his lady wife was about to jump out at him from behind a pillar. “And you swore never to speak of it again.”

  
“When I was a child I also swore only to eat blue food, but you don’t see that happening, do you?” asked Percy, smirking at his friend’s pleading face.

  
His smirk faded as he looked at the page boy approaching them with a agitated expression on his face.

  
“M’lord, Maester Chiron says to call you. He says its urgent. He says its best to hurry, m’lord,” gushed the boy at the pace of a young river.

Maester Chiron’s chambers were on the far side of the Keep in an old tower which looked like it was about to collapse at any time, much like the Maester himself. When Percy and Grover entered the cluttered room, Alabaster Torrington was already there. He was not a very physically impressive man, his exhaustion palpable in the small space. But, he was a brilliant strategist, loyal to Lord Nico, and his sharp green eyes looked out of place on his tired face.

  
Maester Chiron on the other hand never looked more alive in the twenty three years that Percy had known him. He was sitting in one of the ancient chairs, his hands beating out a litany.

  
“Well, what was so urgent, Maester?” prodded Percy.

  
“I only want to say this once, my lord. So, we shall wait for Lady Annabeth,” answered Chiron. “Take a seat, if you want.”

  
Just then the door opened and the lady of the hour came in. Her armour was half undone, sword belt perched precariously on her hips, and her cheeks were flushed from the fight she had just won. No matter how much animosity there was between her and Percy, he could not deny that she was gifted with great looks.

  
“Is the Grace army on march, Maester? Is that why you called us?” asked Grover.

  
“Bar the door, ser, and tell the guards to let no one enter,” said the maester, looking around his worn room. “Run along, child,” he said, addressing his cupbearer.

  
When everything was in place, Maester Chiron got up and shuffled to a table heaped with scrolls and books. He retrieved a piece of paper from the pile and handed it over to Percy.

  
It was a letter which contained the following,  
_Lord Perseus Jackson,_  
_The envoy sent to you came back with the news that you have allied yourself with the traitor, Lord Nico di Angelo and you plan on marrying his sister, the lady Bianca di Angelo. This is an act of treason in the eyes of law and you have declared yourself an enemy of the Iron Throne. Now, we declare war on you._  
_-Prince Jason Grace._

  
“Now, wasn’t that short and sweet?” asked Percy, passing the letter to Alabaster.

  
“This is no time for japes, my lord,” said Chiron, his voice holding a certain urgency.

  
“We knew that this sort of a missive was coming to us,” said Alabaster. “This comes as no surprise and neither does it require this much secrecy.”

  
“You watch and read, my lords, but you do not see,” opined Lady Chase. “This paper is too heavy.”

  
“Precisely, my lady,” enthused Chiron. “There is another message. Something that is altogether very unexpected.”

  
“What is it, Maester?” asked Percy sharply, his eyes searching the letter for its tricks.

  
“If you hold the paper against a light, my lord, you will see it,” said he.

  
Percy walked over to the small fireplace and did what was told. At first the paper remained as it was but after a few seconds, words began to appear under the visible ink. It was a short message, just two sentences.

  
_A time will come when I have to choose between my father and the realm. I will always choose the realm._

* * *

  
Lord Perseus Jackson stood looking out over the sea. His eyes stung in the salty air and his cloak flapped like a captive bird behind him. The first of his banner men had started to arrive. The golden scythe on a green field banner of the Gardeners was hanging majestically from the ship docked in his harbour. Above it was another banner, smaller in size but greater in importance. It depicted a black hellhound on a grey field. The ferociously snarling beast seemed to come alive in the snapping wind.

  
Lord di Angelo was to arrive at Sea Harbour that day and Percy was to wed his sister, Lady Bianca in a week’s time.

  
Percy turned away from the sea. Thinking about his wedding made him feel slightly sick. He was expected to spend his entire life with a person he did not know. He had hazy memories of meeting the lady as a child when he had gone to Darkriver Fort. She had olive skin and black eyes and they had played come-into-my-castle. He remembered Lord Nico as an enthusiastic child who didn’t quite understand what was happening around him yet. He also remembered Tyson laughing with Nico, their apparent delight subjected at a beetle.

  
He had expected the now familiar shock of pain which hit him every time he thought of Tyson. But expecting it did not lessen the impact.

  
When the king had called on the lords of the Three Kingdoms, to fight for him in the War of the Typhoon King, Percy was eight-and-ten and Tyson was barely a man grown at sixteen. They had been eager to fight, to see war in all its glory. Lady Jackson had tried to stop them, but they were at their prime, raring to fight. So, they had gone off to the Stepstones with King Zeus and his army, full of hope about the glory of war and gallant knights. Reality had hit them like stone wall.  
By the time Percy had come back to Sea Harbour, he had lost a lot of things, the greatest of them being his baby brother. They had not found his body, lost in the depths of the Narrow Sea. He had felt responsible, guilty for being able to breathe while fish nibbled at Tyson’s face.

  
Their mother had remarried, she was the new Lady Blofis. When she left, she had said it was too painful for her to remain. Percy had wanted to scream at her, had wanted to ask her where was he to go, where was his dead brother’s ghost to go. But he had smiled as best he could and told her to live a happy life.  
It had been four years since then. In that time, Percy had realised that he only had himself in the whole world to depend upon and that his ghosts were his to carry, so he would carry them with pride.

A ship had appeared on the horizon while Percy’s insides were turning to mulch. As it grew bigger, the banner on it became clearer. It was a long awaited ship and when it finally docked in his harbour, Percy started towards it with so much purpose, that he even startled himself. His guard followed him at a more sedate pace.

  
He reached the large warship in time to see the di Angelos walking down the gang plank. Lord Nico had one hand on his sword and the other was held out for his sister. He was wreathed in black from head to toe, so much that he could be mistaken as a brother of the Night’s Watch. His sister was much the same. The pair looked regale and fierce, much like their sigil, the hellhounds.

  
But Lord Percy Jackson was not easily impressed.

  
“Welcome to Sea Harbour, my lord and my lady,” greeted Percy, smiling with some effort.

  
“Thank you, my lord,” said Lady Bianca, a smile gracing her face. She looked much the same as Percy remembered with her olive skin and warm dark eyes. Beside her, her brother merely nodded at him.

  
Lord Nico, on the other hand had changed a lot. He looked like someone had leeched all the colour out of him, his olive skin now a parchment white. His black hair looked inky, contrasting his skin almost harshly. But he radiated an aura of raw power, commanding the attentions of all the people in his vicinity.

  
“There are things we must discuss, my lord,” said Lord Nico, his voice low. “Let us not linger here for long.”

  
Percy nodded in agreement and looked to his guard. “Lead the way, ser.”

They convened in his solar with both the Jackson and di Angelo guards outside. Percy’s solar had spectacular views of the sea, the horizon a blurred line of blue. But no one was looking at nature now. Lord Nico paced like a caged animal while his sister settled into a chair. Percy sat behind his extravagant table looking at the pair.

  
“Lady Annabeth’s letter was troubling to say the least, my lord,” said Lady Bianca, offering no preamble.

  
“Well, we _are_ at war, my lady,” quipped Percy.

  
Lord Nico looked up at him from his pacing. “The Grace army has split into two according to our spies. One part makes for Darkriver Fort led by Lord Frank Zhang. The other part is coming here, led by Prince Jason himself. They will never get to Darkriver Fort, but what about your home, Lord Perseus? How do you propose to defend it?” asked he, his dark eyes holding none of his sister’s warmth.

  
“Lady Annabeth’s letter did not disclose all the information,” said Percy calmly.

  
“Oh?” exclaimed Lady Bianca while Lord Nico just raised a dark eyebrow.

  
“See for yourself,” he said and pulled open a compartment in his desk, feeling around for the small catch. When he found it, he gave it a sharp tug revealing a secret space. He withdrew the precious letter from it and offered it to the di Angelos. “You must place it against a source of light,” said Percy matter-of-factly, feeling a little smug.

  
Lord Nico took the letter from him and went to the open window. He read the invisible words, squinting in the bright light.

  
“What does it say, Nico?” asked Lady Bianca sharply.

  
Lord Nico did not answer as he turned. His eyes shone with a jubilant light, which was the most emotion Percy had seen him display since he landed in Sea Harbour. “Are you sure this is original?” he asked Percy, his voice tentatively hopeful.

  
“Nico!” snapped Lady Bianca demanding attention.

  
As Percy nodded at Lord Nico, he turned to Bianca and said, “Well sister, it seems like Prince Jason Grace is not all that we thought he was.”


	3. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reyna's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The godswood mentioned in the chapter are for the gods of the Shadowlanders who are kind of like the old gods, but not really.

“They say Queen Bellona was one of the greatest swordswoman Westeros has ever seen. They say she could single-handedly take down three seasoned fighters. They say she was a warrior queen, twice the ruler than any of the Grace kings,” said Ser Michael, looking rebellious.

“I know what they say about my ancestor, ser. What is the point in bringing it up now?” asked Lady Reyna.

They were sitting on the opposite sides of the campfire, a little way away from the road, their horses tethered to a nearby tree. It was war time and the number of travellers had increased fivefold. Everyone was flocking to Olympus. The amount of people on the road increased as they got closer to the capital. Now, they were a day away from the city.

“Westeros could do with a warrior queen,” said the knight. “I have had enough drunken sots ruling the Three Kingdoms.”

“What you speak is treason, ser,” said Reyna, fighting to keep a smile off her face. “If the wrong ears hear you, your head would be on a pike. Mine too.”

“There is no one here, my lady,” Ser Michael said, lowering his voice nonetheless. “Do you think the prince will be successful in his endeavours?”

“I think you had better keep your loudmouth shut when we get to Olympus,” sniped Reyna. “It’s a good thing you’re a fine fighter, or else I might have left you behind a long time ago.”

“I’m just trying to make conversation,” said her companion sullenly.

“Go to sleep, ser. I’ll take first watch. Your conversation can wait for better places,” said Reyna, dismissively.

The knight made a resigned face at her and settled into his thread-bare blanket. It was not that Ser Michael was a bad conversationalist, just that he had no sense of discretion after drinking mead.

The silence was acute now, apart from the occasional nickering of the horses. There was no wind blowing, making the atmosphere still like before an impending storm. Firelight flickered in the small space where they were camped. The trees around Reyna seemed like wraiths. A sickle shaped moon shone upon the world, accompanied by millions of stars.

Reyna had to stay awake for most of the night, so she took care not to get too comfortable. In the eerie atmosphere, ensconced among trees older than any living man, Reyna felt her thoughts drifting to the carnage that was sure to come to the city lying ahead of her.

Ser Michael’s question had pricked at her side like an errant thorn. Did she think that the prince would be successful?

Reyna had known him since she was a child. The prince had been sent to be fostered at Greatspear when he was ten. He had a great affinity with arms even at that age. Both of them had trained side by side with Ser Halcyon Green, the master-at-arms at Greatspear.

She had known King Zeus by his reputation long before she had met him. He had a host of bastards running around in Westeros; it was rumoured that he had a bastard in every Free City of Essos. After his wife, Queen Beryl of Lys left him and his daughter, Princess Thalia ran away, he had been driven to the extreme end of his insanity. The Hand of the King, Lord Aeolus Aire, had been governing the Kingdoms since then. He was the one who sent Prince Jason to Greatspear.

Reyna had always thought that she and Jason would get married once they grew up. But, when Jason had come of age, he had gone back to Olympus, to take his place as the prince of the realm. He had fought like a beast in the War of the Typhoon King, earning himself the title, the Young Eagle. Reyna had fought with Jason in that war, beside him every step of the way. They had been through so much together that the marriage had seemed inevitable to Reyna after that. But the next time she saw him, Jason was married to Lady Piper of House McLean.

Still, she believed in the prince. Her admiration for him was far above the reproductive frenzy of common human relationships. She believed that when he inherited the Iron Throne, Westeros would be a better place.

Then, Lord Nico di Angelo had rebelled and they had ridden off to war again. When the bannermen were called by her sister, Hylla, the lady of Greatspear, she knew that they were on the wrong side of the war. She had gone with King Zeus’ army only because of her belief in the prince.

Now that the prince had suddenly opened his eyes to his father’s tyranny, Reyna could only hope that he would succeed in bringing true peace to the realm. Lord Nico di Angelo was a great man, if the small folk of the Shadowlands were to be believed. But Reyna hoped he was a good man, for the sake of the realm and the sake of her prince.

The moon had climbed to the apex of the sky by the time Reyna had broken her lofty train of thought. She blinked her sore eyes at the fire and poked at Ser Michael until he woke up.

“We ride at sunrise,” Reyna reminded him as she set up her temporary bed. Then she turned away from the light and fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

  
By the time Reyna and her talkative companion were ready to travel, the colours of the world around them was in sharp focus. They planned to reach the capital by sunset and for that, they had to be fast. Their horses were well fed and rested and getting to Olympus would be no great task.

They travelled along the Kingsroad for the rest of the journey which ran to Olympus in a straight line, cutting across the kingswood. To Reyna’s relief, Ser Michael Kahale did not try to make awkward conversation with her again.

Reyna could see the city looming ahead of them when they were a few miles out; its opulence dwarfing the surrounding countryside. When they finally reached it, the sun had almost set, painting everything a vivid hue of orange. The Gold Keep seemed like it was on fire, the golden hue merging and shimmering under the light.

There was a line of farm wagons at the main gate. When Reyna and Ser Michael rode into the city, none of the guards challenged them; her banner was too well-known. The Red God’s worshippers were everywhere. The Red Priest, Octavian had rode to battle with Jason. It had empowered the foreign religion even more, encouraging them to dig their roots into Westeros. It seemed to Reyna like no one worshipped the Seven anymore.

“I must get to the princess,” said Reyna, whispering softly to her companion. “Find yourself a room in a cheap inn. And try not to get noticed or get drunk.”

“But how will I know if you are in trouble?” asked Ser Michael.

“I am Reyna Avila Ramirez-Arellano. I don’t get into trouble,” she said, sitting up in her saddle and treating the knight with a haughty glare.

“You know, Prince Jason sent both of us here, not just you,” said Ser Michael, looking offended.

Reyna softened her glare and said, “I need you outside the castle, ser. If I am somehow incapacitated, it will be up to you and only you to save her.”

Ser Michael’s defensive look melted a bit and he gave a sharp nod before riding off, presumably to search for living quarters.

I wonder what it’s like to live with all that ego, thought Reyna while riding up to the castle. Then she chuckled to herself at the irony. Her ego wasn’t all that small either. Her horse, Scipio, whinnied like he agreed to the sentiment. The people of the city crowded the streets, most of them making for the tiny temple of the Red God on the opposite side of town. The fire they lit every dusk was about to burn.

By the time Reyna reached the royal stables, it was considerably darker. The stable-boy seemed startled to see her. Behind him a girl giggled, not even trying to hide her nakedness. She raised her eyebrows and handed him Scipio’s reins, patting the horse’s muzzle and asking the boy to feed him.

“If you’re not too busy, that is,” threw Reyna behind her back, making her way to seek audience with the princess, a smirk sneaking onto her face.

The Gold Keep was a vast castle, very easy to get lost in. Princess Piper lived in Amalthea’s Holdfast, a castle within a castle. There was a wide moat surrounding it and only a handful of people were allowed inside. There were two McLean guards outside the open drawbridge.

“I seek audience with the princess,” said Reyna, addressing the shorter guard.

“May I ask on what business, my lady?” asked the guard, the white dove on his armour glowing eerily in the half darkness.

“I am here on behalf of Prince Jason Grace. It is an urgent matter which concerns her,” replied Reyna patiently.

The shorter guard nodded and gestured to the taller one, who turned around disappeared into the building. Fires had now flickered into existence around them. She imagined the scores of people gathered around R’hllor’s great fire, chanting to him to keep them safe. It was nice to have that much faith in a god, an intangible power. Since she was a child she had put precious little faith in anything, apart from herself. Yet she believed in the prince, the belief a paradox contradicting all her principles. The McLean guard’s return caused her to look up.

“The princess will see you right away, my lady,” said the guard, almost reluctantly. “I will escort you to her chambers.”

Reyna gave him a curt nod and followed him into the keep. Freshly lit torches lined the walls and they were met by servants scurrying along, their eyes averted. They climbed a few staircases and came to a halt in front of a gilded door flanked by more McLean guards.

“You can go right in, my lady,” said one of the guards at the door.

She absent-mindedly thanked him and pushed through the extravagant doors. The room on the other side was just as extravagant. Expensive Tyroshi rugs were on the floor while Myrish tapestries depicting different cities hung on the walls. Some purple Braavosi fabric made up the curtains hanging by the window. Princess Piper herself was seated in chair near the windows looking out over the stinking city. She was dressed simply, at odds with the room, and looked deep in thought but rose to greet Reyna when she heard her enter.

“Welcome to Olympus, my lady,” said the princess, offering Reyna a smile which did not quite reach her eyes.

Reyna curtseyed to her, which was quite a feat in her armour and said, “It is good to be here, my lady.”

“Have a seat,” said Piper, gesturing to one of her chairs.

“What brings you to our fair city?” asked Princess Piper once they settled into their seats, her voice not betraying any of her emotions.

“The prince himself sent me, my lady,” replied Reyna, skirting around the subject of her visit.

“Yes, my guards said that. But, what really brings you here? My husband is not dead, is he?” questioned the princess, a sliver of concern worming into her tone.

“No, my lady. The prince is alive and well. He marches on Sea Harbour as we speak,” said Reyna, clearly sensing the need to allay some of the princess’ worries. Then lowering her voice, she whispered, “Can you guarantee that we won’t be overheard here, my lady?”

“That is a relief to hear, my lady,” said Princess Piper, subtly inclining her head towards the godswood clearly visible through the window. Then she abruptly got up and said, “Come, we shall take a walk.”

Outside the room, her guards fell into step with them. They walked at a sedate pace like they were in no hurry. The princess was greeted politely by many people on the way and they could feel greedy eyes lingering on them wherever they went. The godswood itself was deserted and quite dark, the quickly darkening sky overhead, a weak blue. They hadn’t brought a torch with them and the guards stood at the entrance of the godswood.

“Minos’ spies are everywhere,” said Princes Piper, her voice sounding queer among the sighing trees. “He calls them his little birds.”

“I guessed, my lady,” replied Reyna, wondering whether there were any little birds hiding among the trees.

“Why are you here?” asked the princess, her tone suggesting she would tolerate no nonsense.

Good, thought Reyna. She wasn’t at Olympus to simper and flatter, she was there to serve the realm.

“I am here to take you to your husband,” replied Reyna simply.


	4. Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leo's POV

Leo liked to think that he was an intelligent person. He was not a great swordsman, neither was he a great archer. His looks were average at best. He was a good reader but far from a maester. He was shorter than an average lord and as a rider, he was subpar. But by the seven gods and the Red God and all the bloody gods in the world, he was clever.

So, when Prince Jason sent Lady Reyna away, saying that she had an important mission, he knew something was going on.

The day after Lady Reyna had left, all the lords and captains had been summoned to the prince’s tent. After hours of deliberation, Jason had asked Lord Zhang to take a larger part of the army and lead raids to the Shadowlands. Prince Jason himself was to lay siege on Sea Harbour, where the chief supporter of the di Angelo side sat. The Grace fleet consisting mostly of Solace and McLean ships had been hindered by storms along the coast. But they would get to Sea Harbour by the time the prince arrived.

“We shall march tomorrow at sunrise,” Prince Jason had said, his determination sparking through his eyes.

When he had asked Lord Zhang to stay back with him, Leo’s idea had taken a deeper root in his mind. There was definitely something he was missing, something vital to the war, something impending like the calm before a storm.

Now, after marching with the prince for more than three sennights, Leo was absolutely certain that a primal change had taken place in the prince. The drizzly rain which followed them had slowed their march, so he had had plenty of time to decipher Jason’s behaviour. It seemed as though a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. The sense of melancholy that hung around him had lightened, making him livelier. He looked less tired during their war councils and snapped at people less often.

As Leo rode beside Prince Jason, he was surprised he did not see it sooner.

“Tell me, my lord, how is the lady Calypso doing at Olympus?” asked Leo, raising his voice to be heard above the clip clop of hooves.

Prince Jason seemed confused by his question. “I am not sure, Lord Valdez, seeing as how I haven’t been to Olympus in two moon turns.”

“But how was she faring before you left?” persisted Leo.

“I seem to recall she was being courted by one of the Castellans visiting Olympus. That was before the war began, of course.” Jason paused, peering at Leo from under his hood. “What is _your_  connection to her, my lord?”

“Curiosity, nothing more,” replied Leo, the tips of his ears turning warm. “What happened to the Castellan boy once the war began?”

Jason smirked, as if he knew exactly what Leo was trying to do but answered nonetheless. “Since Lord Luke Castellan declared for the di Angelos, the man and his brother are prisoners of my father.”

Leo grabbed the subject of the king like his life depended on it. “Speaking of the king, how did he take the war?”

A dark expression spilled onto the prince’s face before he caught it and his face changed back to that of a competent leader’s. But his eyes still held a bitter look, as if some of the weight he had relinquished had come back. “The king took the war as he takes all things, with a cup of wine in his hand and a whore on his cock.”

Leo barely controlled a visible wince. Prince Jason’s tone contained such scorn, that it could make stone flinch. “You do remember he is our king, don’t you, my liege?”

Prince Jason let out a bark of mirthless laughter. “Speak your mind, Lord Valdez. You have formed some ideas about my intentions, have you not? So, why shall I hide from you?”

This time Leo could not help the small gasp that escaped his lips. “How could you possibly know that?”

“I am a leader, my lord,” explained Jason, patiently. “It is my duty to know each and every advisor of mine inside out.”

Leo nodded slowly, slightly dumbfounded. “So, my assumptions are correct,” he said, after a long pause in which Prince Jason looked at him as if trying to gauge whether Leo was going to spontaneously combust.

“Yes,” said the prince simply.

The implications of that statement was going to send all corners of Westeros reeling, that much Leo understood. It was not unprecedented for a son to rebel against his own father, but the game Prince Jason was playing was far more dangerous than the rebellions of a naïve youngster. The fate of the whole realm rested on his one choice.

Leo gave a decisive nod in Jason’s direction. “Alright, my lord.”

Jason looked at Leo calculatingly. “Is that all you have to say on the matter, my lord?”

“Yes,” said Leo, parroting the prince’s words back at him.

* * *

  
Sea Harbour was an impressive city. The nearer Leo got to the place, the more imposing it seemed to him. It was good thing that they weren’t actually trying to take the city.

A rider had arrived to the army that morning, galloping through the misty dawn. He brought with him the message that the Grace ships had finally reached the city to block its sea route.

It had taken them most of that day to camp outside the city and set up some basic defences. The walls of Sea Harbour were manned by hundreds of men with loaded crossbows. Getting too close to the city was perilous.

Above the main gate, two banners flapped in the sea breeze. One of them depicted a red eyed hell hound on a field of grey, boldly declaring the city’s allegiance to the rebel lord. The other one was that of a white horse rising from the greenish sea, foaming mane streaming behind it, the Jackson banner.

The banners flapped almost mockingly in the sea breeze as Leo walked among the tents, his ears catching different tones and snatches of a hundred conversations. Most of them made no sense to Leo but it helped him gauge the mood of his men. They were spent and tired, yet restless for a fight.

Leo was worried about how they were going to react to the prince’s decision. There was no love lost between the Shadowlanders and the rest of the kingdom. Their religion was different, they had different skin colours, even their customs were different. The people were also loyal to their king.

But Leo had once heard that power resides where men believe it resides. If Prince Jason could win over the key players of the game, he could rally the army to his side.

Leo felt like he was playing cyvasse and all of Westeros was his board. He would need to stay five steps ahead of his opponent to win the game, to topple a monarch who was ruling for two decades.

He was broken out of his reverie by a squire’s meek voice. “The prince has summoned you, my lord. The parlay is to take place right away.”

“Ah, yes,” replied Leo, changing his course and making for Jason’s golden tent. He had seen this coming. The prince was not one to waste time whoring and playing drinking games with disgraced sell swords.

When Leo arrived at his destination, the place was already bustling with activity. Inside the tent sat Lord William Solace, the Red Priest, Octavian and Lord Tristan McLean. The two lords had arrived with the ships, they seemed haggard from facing multiple storms. Octavian seemed excited, like he knew what was going to happen. Leo wondered whether he could see betrayals in his fire.

Jason inclined his head as Leo settled into a chair. The other lords greeted him politely while the Red Priest looked at him like he was a particularly interesting animal, his eyes shining.

“Before we present ourselves to Lord Nico and his allies, there is something you must know,” began the prince.

Lord Tristan, the prince’s father by marriage, sat up and narrowed his eyes. “Did something happen at Olympus?”

Prince Jason shook his head. “No, my lord. But, something did happen at camp. I came to the realisation that the war we are fighting is futile.” He paused, and looked around gauging the expressions of his listeners. There was a heavy silence. He continued slowly. “Our king doesn’t care for us, any of us. We are stuck in an unfair war against a man who lost his mother to the king’s tyranny. So, I have decided that we shall no longer fight for the man who is tearing the realm apart, we shall fight for a better generation.”

Lord McLean leapt from his seat. “Have you lost your mind, boy? That sot will have my daughter’s head for your treason. She will be...”

He was cut off by Jason. “I have sent two of my best warriors to rescue her. She will be out of the city before the army reaches Olympus.”

“The army? What army?” asked Lord Solace sharply, his usually relaxed demeanour shed like a dirty cloak.

Before Jason could open his mouth, Leo reached to the obvious conclusion. “It’s Lord Zhang’s army, isn’t it?” asked Leo, cursing himself for not seeing it earlier.

Jason nodded. “It is, my lords.”

“Who did you send to Olympus? To save my only daughter, who did you send?” Lord McLean questioned, aggression rolling off of him in waves.

“Ser Michael Kahale and Lady Reyna, my lord,” replied Prince Jason, looking calm and ready to handle anything his lords threw at him.

There was a sharp intake of breath from the corner of the room. Through all of their discussion Octavian had remained silent, observing the proceedings inclined on his chair. Now, he sat up. “Lady Reyna! I have seen her in the flames, my prince. Her life carries with it a shadow, a darkness to come. You should not have trusted her.”

Lord Tristan made a cry of outrage. “You sent that woman to rescue Piper?”

Prince Jason’s face went from calm to ice-cold in a matter of seconds. “Yes. I sent Lady Reyna. If it weren’t for that _woman_ , I would be dead ten times over. She is more competent than five average men combined. So, yes. I sent Reyna to save my wife.”

Leo winced at the cold fury in Jason’s voice.

Lord Solace’s practical voice spoke up. “The lords are waiting for a parlay. We can continue this discussion later.”

Leo nodded in assent. “I agree, my lord. We mustn’t keep potential allies waiting.”

“Allies?” cried Lord McLean, addressing the prince. “They will be your death.”

Jason closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “We must go now, good-father.” He paused and looked directly at Lord Tristan. “Are you coming with us?”

The lord in question clenched his jaw and stiffly inclined his head.

When the Red Priest made to get up, the prince shook his head. “This has got nothing to do with religion. Stay here, my lord, and pray to R’hllor.”

“As my prince wishes,” said Octavian, his voice strained.

When they set out from the prince’s tent, their little procession contained the prince, an outraged father, a level headed lord and Leo, himself. Several guards fell in step behind them.

By the time, they had reached the main gates of Sea Harbour, the sun was almost at the horizon; the small figures visible beneath the flapping banners growing larger with every step. The sea beside them had stowed away its blue-green colour to adopt fiery tones.

Lord Nico di Angelo cut a stark figure in front of them, his features half shadowed. Beside him stood the green-eyed Lord Perseus, his hand wrapped around the hilt of his greatsword. On Lord Nico’s other side was Lady Chase, her golden hair glowing in the yellowish orange of the sunlight. Another shrewd faced man stood a little way away from the group, Leo did not know who he was.

“My lords and lady,” greeted Prince Jason, his voice tight.

“My lords,” replied Lord Nico, his eyes flitting over each member of their side.

As the others lords greeted each other, Leo studied Lord Nico closely. He was staring intently at the prince, his glance heavy and unwavering. Leo could not see Jason’s expression, but guessing it did not require much of an imagination.

Prince Jason cleared his throat. “You know why I am here, my lord.”

Lord Jackson’s brow twitched but he did not say a word.

“You are here to betray your father,” Lord Nico said bluntly.

Beside him Lady Annabeth let out a sharp sound. But the prince did not seem to hear it. He only had eyes for the man in front of him.

“I _am_  here to betray my father. And I am going to save the realm while I’m at it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit late, aren't I? Sorry for that. And I also apologise for the Jasico teaser.


	5. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piper is here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard to write.

Piper stood poised, looking at the Iron Throne. The ugly chair rose imposingly in front of her, the twisted swords gleaming in sunlight. The people around her tittered nervously as Lord Aeolus Aire, the Hand of the King came in and joined the rest of the Small Council. Maester Asclepius made his way painstakingly up the stairs, teetering with each step.

Behind Piper, Lady Reyna stood stoically in full armour. She disregarded the suspicious looks thrown at her, her face a mask of disinterest. Piper was suddenly very grateful for her presence, an odd reassurance in the viper’s pit that was Olympus.

“All hail His Grace King Zeus, the Second of His Name, the King of Sky, Shore and Shadow, Lord of the Three Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm,” cried the announcer.

As the crowd surged around Piper, the king walked into the throne room. He wore a creamy white doublet, the golden eagle of his sigil sewn into it. An elaborate crown of gold sat on his brow, the delicate stems of metal shaped like wings about to take flight. His long grey hair shone like metal and there was no glass of wine in his hand. The king looked his part, his appearance belying his nature.

Piper hated times like these when Zeus looked disturbingly like Jason. It was nature’s irony; father and son, different yet shockingly alike.

The king settled into his throne, hands nestling into the spikes. He looked very much like an eagle perched high upon his seat, hooked nose held aloft. After his eyes quickly scoured his audience, he slightly inclined his head.

The doors of the throne room clanged open and two gold cloaks came in with a woman clad in red between them. Her unkempt hair gave her a wild look but there was an aura of innocence about her. Her red robes indicated that she was probably a priestess of the Red God. The guards dumped her before the Iron Throne and retreated.

As the court erupted into whispers, King Zeus began to speak slowly. “This woman here has been brought before you for a very special reason.” He paused and looked at the woman contemptuously. “Would you care to elaborate, my... lady?”

The woman in question mumbled something inaudible.

“Speak up,” said the king, gruffly.

She straightened up, raising her head defiantly from her position on the floor. “My treason is speaking the Lord’s truth.”

The king narrowed his eyes. “Which is?”

“I have seen your fate in the fire, _king_. I have seen your rage burning the realm to the ground, your lust for power killing our children, your arrogance turning people into monsters, heroes into traitors.” The crowd had turned into statues, each of their focus on the red woman. “Your actions will be your fall and the fall of many others, both good and bad. Your faith will crumble, proud king. And your life will be forgotten.” Her eyes glowed maniacally, her fate not of concern. “I have seen your death in the fire, the dark sword thrust into your belly; and I have seen what comes after, the joy, the light, the wealth. Your fall will be a blessing to the realm, that is the truth.”

There was silence in the throne room. A heavy silence.

Zeus’ face was a picture of disdainful mirth, an obscene smile gracing his mouth. “The Lord of Light is merciful and wise. He may accept my sacrifices yet.”

Piper’s stomach turned. A horrible sense of foreboding came over her. She knew what was coming. She _knew_ what was coming.

A look of actual fear flashed on the woman’s face. As she started to get up, the ornate doors flew open yet again. In came a few gold cloaks bearing a wooden structure between them.

The clamour had started up again in the court. People whispered furiously, their gestures panicked, their expressions anxious. At the small council table, Lord Aire had turned shockingly pale. Beside him, the spymaster Lord Minos looked calm, perhaps the only one in the room to feel that way. Lord Ganymede, the master of coins and Maester Asclepius had their heads bent together.

Lady Reyna had stepped forward inconspicuously, subtly hiding Piper from King Zeus’ gaze. She lowered her head towards Piper and gave her a reassuring look.

Piper nodded slightly, steeling her heart. She had noticed that there were two poles, two sacrifices, two dead people were in the room.

The king’s expression was borderline gleeful. He gestured to the Kingsguard by his side. Ser Phobos and Ser Deimos sprang into action, seizing hold of the Hand of the King.

There was an audible gasp from the court as Lord Aire was dragged to the post and tied beside the Red Woman. His white face looked resigned, he made no attempt to struggle.

From that point on everything was a blur to Piper. She saw Zeus’ mouth moving, she saw the flames take hold in the dry wood. She thought she heard screams, but couldn’t tell where they were from. Their skin melted before her eyes, muscles and bones charring to a crisp. Their hair caught on fire, wisps of it flew around the large room like exotic insects. The smell was the worst thing, like a common animal being cooked for a feast. All the while, there was a man laughing, an ugly, ecstatic laughter echoing in the large room.

* * *

  
Piper woke up in a cold sweat. The horrific symphony of laughter and screams still rang in her head. She sat fully-clothed and heaving on her bed until she felt calmer.

The silvery light of the moon pooled into the room. When Piper looked out the window, the city beneath the castle seemed ethereal, almost beautiful. She had always liked Olympus, although it was very different from her home. There were no green fields here, no small huts, no sprawling ocean a day’s ride away. The only familiarity came from her father, the master of ships; but he too was now gone, swept away by the torrential current of war.

Suddenly, there was a faint sound of a door opening. When Piper looked around, she was met with the sight of Lady Reyna.

Piper was disproportionately surprised. “What in seven hells are you wearing?”

Lady Reyna almost smiled at her. “I don’t think you are supposed to curse me to the seven hells just because I am not wearing armour, my lady.”

This was in fact the first time Piper had seen her in anything but armour. Reyna was wearing dark breeches and a black doublet under a heavy cloak.

Piper brushed off her shock quickly. “Is everything ready?”

“Yes. We must leave at once. From what I have seen Minos works quick,” said she. “What have you done with your guards?”

“They will meet us out in the kingswood.”

Reyna gave her a look of trepidation. “Are you sure they will make it?”

Piper shook her head. “We will dwell on that later. Tell me, how are we going to deal with the kingsguard outside the keep?”

“Ser Aeacus has been dealt with already,” reiterated Reyna.

Piper made for the door. “Dealt with?”

Reyna made no reply, just led her outside. Piper was also garbed in dark colours. It would not do to get caught at a time like this. She had taken very little with her, most of her things in Olympus meant little to her.

Piper followed Reyna down the wide steps of the holdfast. There was only one exit from the building. Ser Aeacus was to be guarding the drawbridge.

But when they got to the main door, Piper saw no one. She realised where the knight had went when guttural moans and cries floated over to her from a nearby chamber. Reyna threw her a knowing look and then hurried across the wooden drawbridge.

This was where things got tricky. But Reyna’s steps remained sure. The moonlight was bright, so they slipped into the shadow of the towers surrounding them. The Gold Keep was huge. There were many eyes to see what was happening; nevertheless, nothing stirred around them. An errant wind howled through the city from time to time. The weather was at odds with what Piper felt – the calm before the storm.

The castle had been built on the lower reaches of a fairly high mountain. Reyna planned to go higher, something the king would not expect them to do. The only thing to their advantage was that the city walls and the walls of Gold Keep overlapped and there was a guard tower a few pace from the godswood.

From time to time Reyna stopped and listened intently in the dark but no one interrupted their journey. They reached the entrance of the godswood in a short time in which the feeling of impending doom had intensified ten-fold in Piper.

The woods were dark and empty as usual, ancient trees rose high above. They walked silently among them, the leaves having bouts of eerie quietness and equally eerie whispers. As they neared the tower, the flickering lights of the fire grew larger. There were supposed to be two guards according to Reyna.

“.....burned ’im, he did. With a red wench ’oo said that the king is going to be done in by ’is son.” The voice belonged to a fat man sitting on a threadbare chair. Beside him sat the other guard, who looked more agile and awake.

As they watched, a horn blew from the other end of the castle. The men startled out of their sleepy reverie and almost with no deliberation left their post to go see the trouble.

Reyna quickly marched forward when they were out of view. She reached into her cloak and pulled out keys. Piper knew better than to ask where she had got them. The door rattled and opened. When they were both safely outside, Reyna relocked the door. Fortunately for them, this side of the castle was loosely guarded as chances of an attack coming from here were slim.

The forest beyond shivered in a sudden gust of wind. They made their way into the line of trees as swiftly as they could. The palfreys were supposed to be close by, they just had to find them and she would be free.

Unease still lingered around the corners of Piper’s mind. That had been too easy. It made her suspect that something was going to go horribly wrong. But, no.

Reyna had led them to their horses. Ser Michael was to meet them uphill. Piper carefully got on her horse, so as not to upset the saddlebags. Then they rode on, Piper and Lady Reyna into the dark woods ahead of them.

* * *

  
He gripped her hand hard. “Come on. We must go on.”

Piper stared uncomprehendingly at him. Ser Michael was shouting at her. Bruising her bones. But all she could hear was Reyna screaming. The same thing. Over and over again. One word. Over and over again.  
“ _Run_.”


	6. Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Hazel in Volantis.

The pyre burned high, yellow orange flames licking at the blue sky above them. Thick grey clouds of smoke wafted up towards the high black walls. The wood crackled as a light wind spurred the fire on. The weather was beautiful, clear and sunny, inappropriate for the occasion. Hazel felt like the world was mocking her.

There was to be a feast after, a passing nod to her heritage of the Summer Isles; they celebrated the lives of the dead in their funerals. Highborn nobles of the city had come to pay their respects her mother. All of Volantis was in uproar. The eastern side wanted revenge masked as justice, their self righteousness bubbling over like over boiled milk. The western side of the river was outraged, freedmen and slaves alike, their indignation at being blamed for her death starting riots every night.

But Hazel did not care, she didn’t care about screaming crowds or the mind-numbing politics. Her mother was dead. She was alone in the ancient city with black walls of Valyrian stone closing her in. She was alone in the entire world. She tamped down the hysterical laughter that threatened to spill from her throat.

The smoke from the pyre was now choking the large courtyard, a smell of charred meat piercing through all other senses. A withered yellow man had a tremendous coughing fit until his tattooed slave withdrew him from the flames. A large fat man in purple silks was next to succumb, followed by a delicate woman surrounded by a host of attendants. All of nobles retreated after that, some of them making straight for the feasting hall, others lingering around out of politeness.

But Hazel remained. Her eyes stung in the thick smoke and breathing was a labour. Rivulets of sweat ran down her sides, dripped into her eyes and pooled in the hollow of her throat.

Still, she remained in the courtyard. She remained until her beautiful mother was a pile of charred bones in the middle of a singed courtyard, until the last of the smoke had faded into the deep azure of the sky, until all she could hear was her mother’s last words to her.   
“Do something, you worthless girl.”

* * *

  
The woman smiled. “How may you be of service to me?”

Hazel shivered under her watchful gaze, the cold black eyes seemed to pierce into her very soul. The scar under her right eye made it clear who she was. Hazel cleared her throat slightly.  
“I know several languages, my lady. Perhaps I could be a translator.”

The woman’s smile widened. “You and I both know that I am no lady. And no, I don’t need a translator. There are people for that.”

She knew about the people, freedmen all. She knew who she was talking to and just how much power the woman held in the city. If she wanted, she could slit Hazel’s throat and throw her into the river and no one would know. Hazel was reminded of a reptile when she looked at the former slave; she had a detached air about her, the smile gracing her lips never made it to her eyes.

“I can cook for you or clean or be a hand maiden or a cupbearer. There are many jobs on a ship,” Hazel said, looking down at her lap.

The woman made a noise of dissent. “And there are as many freedmen who need those jobs.”

Hazel looked up then. “I can get enough money, if you wait for a sennight.”

“If you think a ship will stop for a few coins, you are more naïve than I thought,” she said, her tone inching towards irritation.

Anger flashed hot in Hazel’s gut, but she took a controlled breath. “What do you want me to do for you?”

The freedwoman raised one dark eyebrow but said nothing.

Hazel felt her frustration rise up. “Well, if there is nothing I can do for you and nothing you can do for me, then why am I here?”

“That is the question, isn’t it?” she murmured lowly.  
Then, in a flash her icy smile morphed into a look of genuine, but not completely selfless, interest. She leant forward across the rickety table and searched Hazel’s face for something. The clatter of the hathays on the street outside and the voices of men deep into their cups chatting around them got louder in Hazel’s ear. But she did not look away from the woman’s gaze.

As the minutes ticked past, Hazel wondered what her real name was. To everyone who knew her, she was Trivia. Her skin colour suggested that she was either Myrish or Westerosi but her Valyrian accent was impeccable, it did not give away her heritage. She was known all across Volantis and even in some other parts of Essos. Her roots were unknown to Hazel and everyone else. Trivia had ended up as a whore in Volantis at the age of five-and-ten but rose to power over the next two decades.

Finally, Trivia gave a sharp nod. “She will do fine,” she mumbled to one of the guardsmen sitting behind her. Then she turned to Hazel and said, “There is a galley leaving for Braavos in two days. She is called the Seahorse, sets sail at dawn.”

“And this ship will stop at Westeros?” asked Hazel.

“No. But a Red Priest has predicted that Seahorse will never make it to its destination.”

Hazel looked doubtfully at the woman in front of her. Not reaching Braavos and reaching Westeros were two completely different things. But, she was desperate, she had to take what she would get.   
“And what would you take in return for giving me passage?”

“Nothing.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday to Perseus Jackson, the sassiest demigod to ever sass.


	7. Styx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nico di Angelo sighs a lot

A band of glimmering stars was spattered across the night sky. Lord Nico di Angelo felt like he was at the edge of the world, the ground ended before him to give way to a dark lake. Flecks of stardust and moonbeam gleamed in the shivering waters; he could not decide where the earth ended and skies began, the world a stretch of sparkling darkness. He decided that he liked the place, the Starry Lake was aptly named.

Nico shook himself out of nature’s grasp and slumped down on one of the slippery stones near the edge. He cupped handfuls of icy water washed the bloody mess off his hands and face. There was a gash on his side, but it was a shallow cut, looked worse than it was. The man who gave it to him had died screaming.

He slowly and methodically cleaned his wound, and wrapped a piece of his under-tunic around it. The other scraps and bruises could wait, Nico decided, his sword was more important.

He loosened it from the scabbard and took out Styx. The longsword was Valyrian steel, the magic of its rippled layers were glorious to behold. A local smith had tried to remake it, some decades before and that had resulted in Styx having a darker layer of black dye mixed in with the dark steel. The effect was that the sword seemed to suck in light, there were no other swords like it in the Three Kingdoms.

But now, Styx was covered in a layer of blood, grime and filth. Nico ripped another piece of his tunic and started to gently clean the sword. This ritual helped him shrug off battles, it reduced taking lives into a series of familiar chores.

His thoughts were tugging at him, like a treacherous undercurrent trying to sweep him off his feet, misbalance him. Flashes of dead men, squirted blood, horses neighing and swords clashing filled his mind. He tried to remember them all, all the men whose lives he had ended, they deserved that no matter who they were. A man with a scarred face, a frightened young squire holding his sword awkwardly, a big hulking man with a hammer, a man with an aggressively red beard, a woman throwing knives, a smirking archer, a knight on his stead and a man with an unwieldy spear.

Lord Midas’ army was formidable especially with Lady Clarisse’s help, but it was no match for the combined might of Shadow, Sky and Shore. His son had been captured but he himself had escaped.

Nico sighed at the darkness around him, as a pack of wolves howled in the woods. Standing up, he sheathed his sword. The sight before Nico made him want to stay there all night, but the wind was picking up, his thin tunic doing nothing to stop the cold. He sighed again at the night and made his way back to camp.

The sharpened pikes around the border stuck out menacingly. Three huge banners fought for dominance, snapping at each other through the wind. A voice shouted, “Who goes there?”  
Nico hurried out of the darkness.

The guard gave a start. “M’lord?”

Nico gave him a short nod and walked on. The camp was quiet, some torches flickered around him. He paid no mind to the few whores who eyed him as he went by. Many men liked to fuck after a good fight, but Nico had never been one to follow the many.

Drunken laughter issued from inside his tent. He strode in to see a busty redhead sucking his squire’s cock. Neither of them appeared to notice him. Nico sighed again, and cleared his throat.

Cecil’s eyes blew open and he pushed at the girl until she let up, a string of spit following her mouth. He grappled to cover himself while the redhead proceeded to stare at him.

“Kindly get out, my girl, and take your companion with you.”

This spurred her on, she bundled her heaving breasts back into her dress and tugged at Cecil’s hand. Cecil looked mournfully at him, but Nico waved a dismissive hand in his direction.

Nico idly wondered what his father would have done to the squire, as he stripped his filthy clothes; gelded him, most probably. He would get a maester to look at his cut the next day, Nico decided, otherwise Bianca might kill him herself.

His bed was hard and scratchy, it squeaked as Nico fell onto it. But sleep came easily enough and thankfully it was dreamless.

* * *

 

Nico hurried towards the large tent towards the Grace side of the camp. A low dull ache radiated out of his abdomen as the biting wind ruffled his hair and tried to steal his cloak. It would not do to be late to a war council. The camp around him bustled, the day after a battle was always busy.

When he reached Jason’s tent, the guards stood aside almost fearfully to let him in. The inside of it was vacant except for the prince. He stood at the head of the table, looking thoughtfully at a sheepskin map.

He glanced up as Nico came in. “My lord.”

“I apologize for my haste,” said Nico, suppressing his urge to scowl at the man before him.

Jason shook his head. “I am glad you were hasty. I have had some troubling news.”

Nico frowned, sitting down in one of the chairs across from the prince. “About what, my lord?”

“My father has seen it fit to burn the Hand in court, along with a Red Priestess who prophesised his death,” said Jason resignedly, looking at him with an undecipherable gaze.

Nico’s frown deepened. “Why would the king burn Lord Aeolus? His allegiance has always been fixed.”

Jason eyes softened, leaving him looking almost vulnerable. “You have to understand, my lord, that my father has always thought of him as a servant, someone easily replaceable, not as an ally or a loyal friend. Lord Aeolus had apparently outlived his usefulness.”

“I offer my condolences, my lord,” Nico murmured lowly. “Has there been any news of your wife?”

Jason paled. “Piper and Reyna, they disappeared from Olympus. One of the goldcloaks was killed. Two McLean soldiers were caught trying to scale the walls, Zeus put their heads on pikes. But, I have no news whether she was rescued or not.”

Nico opened his mouth, but he was interrupted by Lord Perseus and Bianca entering into the tent. Jason’s chiselled features morphed into his usual calm demeanour.

Percy looked to and fro between them. “Did we interrupt something?”

“Nothing of import, my lord,” Jason said, flicking his gaze to Nico and back. “How do your injuries fare?”

Percy’s answer was lost to Nico as Lord Valdez entered raucously, accompanied by Lord Castellan and one of the Vine brothers. A flurry of greetings ensued in which Bianca politely detached herself from her husband’s side and settled into a seat beside Nico. “Well?”

Nico merely raised an eyebrow.

Her tone altered slightly. “Nico...” she said threateningly.

“Bianca...” Nico copied her, childishly, triumphantly.

Bianca tsk-tsked disapprovingly and shook her head. “Will you tell me or do I need to look under your doublet?”

Nico smirked. “You could try.”

Alabaster had entered the tent during their exchange, shortly followed by Lady Chase. He nodded at the assembled lords as a greeting and seated himself on Nico’s other side while Annabeth flitted over to Jason to exchange a few words. With their matching golden hair, they looked like they were related to each other.

“Nico,” said Alabaster as form of greeting. “Bianca.”

Nico snapped his eyes away from them. “I hear you beheaded Sherman la Rue.”

“I hear parts of your gut are lying on the battlefield,” he replied, nonchalantly.

“Your concern for my well-being astounds me,” Nico said. “And yes, Bianca, my wounds have been tended to. Leave my doublet alone.”

Bianca managed to convey her exasperation without saying a word. “Did you really?” she asked, turning to Alabaster.

“Men are prone to flights of fancy on the battlefield,” he murmured lowly. “Last I heard, he was in a cell beside Ser Lityerses.”

As Lord McLean and Lady Gardener walked in through the tent flaps, Jason cleared his throat. “Shall we begin?”

The small space filled with the noise of scraping chairs and muttered consent. Percy smiled tightly at Nico while he settled in beside his lady wife.

“The Caspers and the la Rues caught us unawares yesterday,” began Jason. “Obviously, word of my betrayal has reached Olympus.”

Lord Valdez nodded. “It seems as though they have known for sometime.”

“Yes, the attack was too well-planned for it to be spontaneous,” agreed Annabeth.

“Not well enough,” said Percy. “They lost, did they not?”

Nico looked up from his careful consideration of the map. “The king misjudged our numbers severely.”

Luke Castellan let out a chuckle. “Zeus’ arrogance is showing.”

“It always does,” said Bianca.

Lord Tristan made a sharp noise of impatience. “Has there been any news of Piper?”

Jason shot Nico a look. “Yes, she and Lady Reyna have escaped from the capital with Ser Michael.”

“And?” demanded Lord McLean.

“And two of Piper’s guard at Olympus have their heads on pikes,” said Jason, skirting around the topic.

With his bronzed complexion, it was hard for Lord Tristan McLean to flush. But now, Nico could see him turning a few shades darker as he fought to keep his temper.  
“Do you know where my daughter is, Jason?”

“She is making her way to Venus Hall,” said the prince without missing a beat.

The transformation in the enraged lord was instantaneous, his anger drained away to give way to a tired father.

Jason looked away from him. “The Hand of the king was burnt before the Iron Throne.”

Amidst a few gasps, Alabaster said, “We should send someone to the Aires. The Nightshade abandonment has left us a little thin.”

Lord Leonidas visibly bristled but said nothing.  
“It could be a ploy,” said Annabeth. “Lord Aeolus has served the king for twenty years.”

This could go on for a while, thought Nico. The salve applied by Maester Dinlas was making his wound itch. Percy said something about sending someone important to the Aires. A little blonde girl flitted around the room with a jar of wine, mostly catering to Dakota Vine. The tent flaps fluttered to and fro, letting some of the chilling wind in.

Suddenly, Bianca was eyeing him apprehension. Nico’s attention snapped back to the council.  
“... so that’s settled,” said Luke, his bumpy scar standing out starkly against his pale skin. “Lord Jackson and I will go.”

* * *

 

Nico’s tent was warmer than outside, but not by much. He sealed his letter to the castellan at Darkriver Fort with dark wax and branded it with a hellhound. Then he transferred his gaze to the man seated across the table.  
“Wine?” he asked, getting up from his chair.

The prince nodded.

As Nico filled the goblets, he wondered at the reason of this visit. “What can I do for you?” he asked, handing a goblet to the man.

Jason wore a doublet with sleeves and collar trimmed in vair and dark fur-trimmed boots. A thin blue cloak rested on his shoulders. Nico thought he looked like the princes described in books and songs. The ones who saved noble ladies in silks and fought in glorious battles.

“Do you think me duplicitous?” asked Jason with trepidation.

Nico shot him a look of confusion. “Why do you ask, my lord?”

Jason’s eyes pinned him. “My actions at the council could have made you question my motives.”

Nico leaned back against his chair. “It is not my place to judge your actions, if they do not concern me.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “But they do concern you, at least a part of them.”

Nico sipped at his wine, while contemplating what that meant. “Is there something you are not telling me, my lord?”

The prince’s face became stony. “Your sword, it will kill the king.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was really fun to write. And thank you to the reviewers, you guys make my day.


	8. Prisoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some heavy stuff with the Praetor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Virtus and Honos are not book characters yet.  
> Virtus is the Roman deity of bravery and military strength while Honos is the god of honor, chivalry and military justice. Just, fyi. And the Dinlas guy from last chapter is the patron god of Lamarck.

Frank tightened his fingers around the hilt of the darkly glimmering longsword and squinted around in the shadows. The ground was sticky with blood, he could feel blood drying on his face, hear it dripping from his sword. The smell of it was stifling him, choking him. Beads of sweat cooled on his brow as a cold draft swept through the trees. The empty quiver on his back seemed heavier than ever.

Strange sounds percolated through the leaves, cries of a dying man, hysterical laughter, wrathful exclamations, howls of anguish, while his own ragged breathing and uneven heartbeat rang in his ears. There was a man with a missing ear at Frank’s feet gurgling slightly as blood slowly seeped out of his chest wound, dying slowly, painfully, his banner colours hidden by fresh crimson.

Frank advanced slowly, stepping over him and several others, his feet squelching slightly over reddish slush. The sounds of battle got louder with every step he took.

The grinning man with a bastard sword appeared as suddenly as the trees thinned around him to give way to a clearing. Their weapons clashed as Frank blocked a blow to his chest, his eyes locking with his opponent’s murky green ones for a split second. Then he was kicking back and exchanging with him a flurry of blows, pressing his height advantage and sorely missing his horse.

“You’re the lord, aren’t you?” asked the man between strikes, a lilt of recognition in his voice.

Frank’s gaze flitted across his armour, it was richly made, castle-forged metal inlaid with delicate scrollwork, the vibrant hue giving away its age. “Forgive me if I don’t know who you are.”

He smirked with renewed vigour. “I guess you’ll never know,” he said, a second before he lunged.

Frank barely put up his sword in time to block it. A piercing shriek issued from behind him, but he knew better than to turn around. He saw several of his men fighting around the clearing in front of him, and several more on the muddy forest floor. But they were overrun, outnumbered, lost, hopelessly so. Frank’s heart stuttered at the truth in that statement, fear coursing through his veins.

This is it, he thought, bracing himself. Today is the day I die.

That morning Lord Zhang had woken up to a mild, sunny day. The usual trepidation he carried these days had been dispersed like fog in daylight. The sky had been a startling blue, and a few white clouds drifted along as if painted by an artist’s hand. Frank had felt an unnatural happiness then, unseemly given the task ahead of him, but it was indomitable.

Lord Virtus had looked at him curiously when they had set forth with two thousand men at their back, but Frank had paid him no mind. Joy is hard to come by when you are filthy, hungry and surrounded by unwashed men.

Even the ride had been pleasant. It had almost felt like he was out hunting with his father and brothers, like they were just out of view, behind a veil of green. Not that Frank had ever enjoyed hunting, but at least it was familiar. He could pretend that at the end of the day he would go back home to his mother and eat boar stuffed with apples and mushrooms and blueberry pie with strong fragrant southern wine, sleep in his feather bed.

They had come upon the bodies of their scouts by mid-day, hanging from an oak, swaying slightly in the cool breeze. Birds chirped cheerily in the surrounding trees as squawking carrion crows fought over their eyes. Lord Honos had rode up to him, bristling with self-importance, and Lord Virtus had followed him at a more sedate pace.

“What is the meaning of this?” he had asked, affronted as if he had expected a courteous war.

“It is a warning,” Lord Virtus had said with an air of finality.

Frank had wanted his joy to recede then, had wanted his insides to get heavy with anxiety, had wanted to have a knot of fear in his guts. Instead, he had nodded. “We shall stop here. I want trenches, I want spikes and I want three guards on every entrance.”

Lord Honos had looked unsurely at him. “But, my lord, how can you be sure it was not just a hill bandit?”

The other lord had scoffed loudly.

Frank had looked at Lord Honos evenly. “There are more efficient and brutal ways of killing than hanging, my lord. _This_ is a show, a mummer’s farce, made to intimidate.”

Although the attack had been expected, when it had come all of the seven hells had broke loose.

The happiness of the morning seemed like mockery to Frank as he stood facing the strange man who was going to kill him, watching the men he had marched with die. Hopelessness seeped into him slowly, pulling at his limbs insistently.

Frank gathered up what was left of himself and gripped the longsword firmly.  
If you are killed by this cunt, all of me, all of you, all these years will be in vain, someone whispered in his mind.

Frank slashed his sword in a deadly arc. The man looked surprised. The half-and-half in his hand clashed against Frank’s weapon so hard that sparks flew. Frank side stepped and attacked again. And again. And again.

A manic delight spread on his opponent’s face, euphoria apparent in the wide arcs of his sword and almost-playful stepping.

Frank slashed savagely at the man’s face, and as he stepped back, hooked his right leg with the man’s left. As he toppled backward in his heavy armour, Frank beat the sword out of his hand, it went flying and landed wetly in a nest of guts.

Frank lined the point of his sword with the man’s neck.

The man blinked up at him, the malice in his eyes ebbing and surging. “They told me you could fight. But I didn’t know you were almost as good as him,” he said, gesturing to someone behind Frank.

“You thi....” The back of his head exploded with pain. As darkness closed in around him, the last thing he saw was a flash of dark hair and a familiar pair of eyes.  
Where have I seen those eyes?

* * *

  
Something terrible had happened, that much Frank knew when he woke up in the darkness. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat. His scrabbling fingers were met with cool damp stone and stinking straw.

Frank reached back to feel his head, it was wrapped in dry cloth. Then, he looked around in the pitch black of his surroundings. He was in Olympus, there was no doubt about that, and these were the legendary dark cells under the Gold Keep.

At least, he was not dead. No, his mind supplied, not dead, but buried nonetheless. Here, he was blind in all but name, his senses askew because of it.

So, Frank sat stock still and tried to listen, if there was anything to listen to, wondering how long it had been since the battle. The sound of his breathing seemed louder in the enclosed space, almost echoing. He stopped mid-inhale. The breathing continued.

“Who’s there?” Frank whispered, his voice sharp.

The soft sounds coming from across the room did not alter, there was no answer. Frank raised his voice and threw his question again. Nothing stirred.

Frank stood up carefully and felt his wounds flare and rage. After the pain had somewhat subsided, he started in the direction of the other person, keeping an hand on the wall. The walk across the room was sickening, every step he took spent spikes of pain to his skull and strengthened Frank’s urge to vomit. It took him a long time, he had no idea how long.

When Frank finally knelt beside the man, the shallow breathing against the unyielding silence was as vivid as the blue of winter roses against pure snow. He tentatively reached out and was met with a tunic covered with something sticky and congealed.  
Blood, he thought. More fucking blood.

A groan issued from the depths of seeped cloth, jarring Frank.  
“Back so soon?” asked a distinctly unmanly voice, wavering at the tail end of the sentence.

Frank knew that voice. “ _Reyna_?”

There was a sharp sound of inhale from the space in front of Frank, then a fit of coughing. A set of controlled breaths followed, barely audible above his throbbing head.  
“Lord Zhang.”

“Are you alright, my lady? I thought you were bleeding,” asked Frank politely, as if they were talking at court instead of in a lightless dungeon.

“I’ve had worse.”

Frank nodded, even though no one could see him. “If I may ask, what happened to you?”

“You may not.”

Frank sighed, she was definitely Lady Reyna. “Are you going to ask about the prince?”

“No.”

Frank subsided into silence. The news of escape of Lady Piper and her had reached them not too long ago. But there had been no news of Reyna’s capture. Moreover, whatever terrible things could be said about Zeus, it was known that he would not torture important prisoners such as the lady before Frank.

As he leant on the cool stone walls behind him, he realised his throat was parched. “Is there any water?”

A skin was thrust into his hands after some shuffling. Frank softly thanked her, before swallowing small mouthfuls of the cool water.

“Don’t drink all of it, this one has got to last three more days.”

“What about food?” asked Frank, the suffering that came with death by starvation was something he was not prepared to face.

“They’ll bring honeyed capon and mulled mead just for you, my lord.”

Frank retreated into silence again, stung.

When he handed back the skin of water, she said, “It is one bowl of brown every three days.”

“Oh.”

Frank did not break the silence again and neither did she. They sat together, in the oppressive silence with darkness all around them.

His thoughts took flight, delving into high tales of how the prince and Percy would come to Olympus with the Shadowlanders upon their hellhounds. A sea of dark surrounding the castle above his head, a surreal shade of gold.  
Of how his half-brothers would stick a sword into the king and come to his cell in a haze of glory to break him and Reyna out, be oath-breakers and king-slayers instead of letting their brother rot.  
Of how his mother would raise another army back home and lead them against the king, bring him down from his perch and wring his neck.

Eventually the swirling voices slowed down, as he drifted off to sleep. In his dreams, his grandmother’s scowling face stood over him as if he were a child.  
“You stupid boy,” she said, her white hair shining. “How many times have I told you, Fai?”

He tried to protest, he had not been a boy for a long time.

“Listen, stupid child. Do you hear it?”

“Can’t you see it, Frank?” asked his mother’s voice, gently, firmly.

See what? Hear what? He tried to ask, but his voice was gone.

“Don’t you see who you are? Can you not hear them, Fai?”

When he tried to answer, his family were gone. In its place was a pair of hands shaking him. Reyna’s urgent voice in his ear.  
“Seven hells, wake up, you auroch.”

“Is something the matter?” asked Frank, alertness flashing into him.

“He’s coming.”

“The king?” asked Frank, puzzled.

“The prince.”

Even as Frank uttered a confused sound, the door opened, letting in a flood of yellow light, blinding him. By the time his eyes had adjusted, the dark figure had made it to the centre of the room and set his lamp down. When he turned around, realisation crashed into Frank.

The eyes he had seen, they were Jason Grace’s. Those eyes filled with disdain as they stared at him and his cell-mate.

  
“Hercules,” said Frank, faintly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think?


	9. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annabeth Chase supplies wisdom to a surprisingly emotional context

Lady Hylla stood tall and proud against the backdrop of the castle, her purple cape startlingly bright under the watery sunlight filtering through the torn clouds. Annabeth could pick out the tiny golden spears which were embroidered in her collar and sleeves as she rode in, interspersed with brilliant orange torches which seemed aflame against the dark material of her dress. In her worn riding clothes of brown leather and her dirty grey cloak splotched with mud, Annabeth felt inadequate, a tired mare faced with a majestic phoenix. Belatedly, she realised that she was supposed to feel that way.

Hylla watched their procession pour into her keep, her face impassive, her eyes flitting over the knights in their armour and squires in their livery with the same disinterest. Annabeth could see the flicker of derision on her face when a man carrying the huge grey banner galloped in, but that was it.

By the time Jason was dismounting his chestnut horse, Nico had joined her side, his skin deathly white under the clouds. Even from a distance, Annabeth could see the tight set of the prince’s shoulders as he greeted Hylla. The lady curtseyed gracefully, formal expression in place, and gestured to the grooms.

A bumbling steward stepped forth, rambling on about refreshments. Annabeth handed her horse to a wide-eyed boy, patting her muzzle absently before he led the horse away. Then she fell into step with Nico as they walked into the castle.

“So?” she murmured, keeping her voice level.

Nico swept his eyes around the cavernous chamber they had stepped in. “No news yet.”

She nodded faintly, disappointment welling in her. Jason’s summons distracted her from it. He gestured them to follow him into a shaded hallway where Lady Hylla had vanished into, parted from the main hall by an intricate tapestry of Queen Bellona leading her army into battle.

The inside of Hylla’s large solar was warm and dry, a novelty. The lady herself sat with a steely expression in place, fingers steepled under her chin.  
“Take a seat,” she said, her tone at odds with the room, as frigid as the dead of winter.

Strangely, Jason relaxed slightly before her. He dragged a chair to the other head of the table and settled into it. Annabeth watched Hylla’s expression flicker at Jason’s action as she sat down across from Nico. In the firelight, the spears and torches on her dress gleamed merrily.

“Hylla, I...” began Jason, then seemed to reconsider it. “Could this not have waited till after we had recovered from our journey?”

Nico’s eyes snapped to Jason, almost accusingly. But Jason did not look back at him.

“No,” said Hylla, unwavering.

The prince looked at Nico and Annabeth in turn, resignation clear on his face. “This is Lord Nico di Angelo, Lord of the Darkriver, and his trusted advisor, Lady Annabeth Chase.”

Hylla nodded sharply at them. “You are welcome at my hearth and home.”

“You have my thanks, my lady,” said Nico, returning her nod. “Your assistance comes at a valuable time.”

“It shall not be forgotten,” supplied Annabeth.

Hylla smiled at her, without a trace of cheer. “I do not intend to let it be forgotten.” Looking at Jason, she continued, “What of your _other_ allies?”

Jason bristled at her pointed emphasis. “They are engaged elsewhere, my lady.”

Hylla’s face darkened, pin-pricks of anger bursting out of the ice. “Where is she?” she bit out.

Jason looked Hylla full in the face for the first time since he entered the room, his expression anguished.

“What have you done?” Hylla whispered.

He did not answer, just looked at her like a rabid dog was chewing on his insides.

“What have you _done_ , Jason?” she whispered again, viciously.

Annabeth spoke up then, feeling like a rude intruder, but unwilling to witness what was coming. “Maybe, we should not be here for this, my lady.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” snapped Hylla.

Nico flinched visibly, the firelight softening his features making him look impossibly young. “We will leave, my lady, if that is what you wish of us.”

He gestured for Annabeth to follow him, as he got up and turned to go, flippant and graceful.

“Stay, will you?” asked Jason, lightly, his voice rough, fragile. A request. A plea.

Annabeth had never seen him like this, on the edge of his composure. She did not know what she had done to deserve his trust; neither did she know whether she returned it.

Nico turned back, his features blank, emotionless, guarded. An unknown person might have thought him callous, but Annabeth knew better.

“Jason,” said Hylla, softly. “Just tell me. Tell me what happened to my sister. Is she even alive?”

Jason shook his head, shrinking in on himself self-consciously. “I don’t know, Hylla. I just don’t know. I don’t know whether I sent my best friend to her death. I don’t know whether my wife is alive. I don’t know where my own sister is. I don’t fucking know.”

After a tense pause, Hylla sighed, her voice slightly shaking. “You do know where your sister is,” she said firmly.

Jason looked up from his bitter inspection of the table, hope and despair warring on his face.

Annabeth felt even more out of place in the room, as if she were a spectator in a play. She watched as Hylla got up and pulled Jason into a rough hug. She watched as Nico looked at Jason. She watched as Jason’s mouth trembled dangerously, but he did not cry.

“Welcome home, brother,” whispered Hylla, almost too low for Annabeth to catch it.

* * *

  
There were times when Annabeth hated being a lady. As the knight seated beside her began to sing about the whores of Lys, slurring over the words and sloshing summer-wine onto her dress, she understood that this was one of those times.

The great hall around her was filled with chatter, laughing lords and serving women, children running underfoot and mangy dogs sniffing around for meaty scraps leftover from the feast.

An untouched lemon cake was on her plate, it reminded Annabeth of home. Of tart lemons on a summer day, of splashing in the water fountains with Magnus, of the deep calm green of olive trees. Of that time when she decided to live in the musty library, only running out when faced with a large spider. Of her mother’s serious grey eyes and her father’s easy smile.

Lord Valdez abruptly leaned over on her other side, his curly brown hair in disarray.  
“You’re reasonably clever, right?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Annabeth snapped out of her reminisce. “Depends upon the reason.”

Leo flashed her a toothy smile, which made him look childishly mischievous. “Who do you think would win in a swordfight – Queen Bellona or Ares II?”

Her eyebrow flicked up against her will. “Bellona,” she answered without hesitation.

“I was not expecting you to be diplomatic,” he said, raking a hand through his hair and making it look even more chaotic.

Annabeth scowled. “It’s not diplomacy, it’s the truth.”

The rest of the night blurred into an endless debate about legendary sword-fighters in history. Leo was, Annabeth decided, not bad company.

When Annabeth reached council the next morning, Nico was already there, staring stoically at a thick tome in front of him. Jason was placing weights at the corners of the old sheep-skin map he always carried and conversing quietly with Leo. Lady Hylla stood by the window, her arms crossed behind her back. Alabaster sat beside Nico, whittling at a piece of wood.

“My lords and my lady,” she greeted pleasantly.

“My lady,” said Jason, sounding tired. “I hope you slept well.”

Leo grinned at her from his seat and Lady Hylla gave her a cursory nod before turning back to her close inspection of the view outside. Alabaster did not look up from his work.

Nico merely looked at her with the corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. Annabeth smirked back.

“Of course I did,” she replied to Jason. “I cannot remember the last time I slept in a feather-bed.”

“Me neither,” said Nico and closed his book firmly, letting loose a puff of dust. Its title read

  
_“The Dragon-Lords of Valyria”_  
_by_  
_Maester Ladon_

“That’s quite a book,” Annabeth commented dryly.

Nico shrugged. “It is mostly speculative. Maester Ladon was hardly Valyrian nobility himself.”

A sharp breath drawn from by the window stopped Annabeth’s response.  
“Something is wrong,” said Hylla, already on her way out of the room.

Just then, the castle erupted into sound. Panicked and frightened. A baby started wailing, its cries shrill and piercing. A wave of foreboding passed over Annabeth as she got up to follow the others. They were striding ahead of her, frantic footsteps on stone.

The main entrance was choked with people, servants, squires, washing-women, soldiers; everybody looked at the man before them with a perverse interest, disgusted but unable to look away. Annabeth stared too, the man was unloading the saddle-bags of his horse. One, two, three heads were lined neatly in front of him, as she watched he added another one and stopped to look around. His eyes shone with mirth when he spotted Jason.

An eerie silence fell upon the courtyard, as if in anticipation.

“A gift for you, my lord,” he purred.

Beside Annabeth, Nico let out a small sound of revulsion, his mouth clenching shut as soon as he realised he made it.

“How generous of you,” said Jason, his voice flat. He made no move to draw his sword, obviously having seen the damning white flag. “Might I have the honor of knowing who my well-wisher is?”

The man smirked, an ugly, predatory smirk, worsened by his crooked nose. “I am Bryce Lawrence, messenger of King Zeus of House Grace and Warden of the Shadowed Lands,” he stated, directing the last bit at Nico.

Annabeth felt cold down to her bones. The legitimised bastard of Lord Orcus, there were stories about him and a bastard son of the king, stories that Annabeth did not care to remember again.

He paused for effect, clearly enjoying it and then continued, “ _These_ are the Lords Honos and Virtus and their heirs. They were traitors and rebelled against the king and the prince.”

The battle was lost, Annabeth realised, hopelessness weighing heavy on her heart. Lord Zhang had not succeeded. It was lost.

“They did not rebel against the prince,” said Hylla, sounding affronted. “Their actions were...”

“They rebelled against Prince Hercules Grace, son of King Zeus and rightful and only heir to the Iron Throne,” threw Bryce triumphantly, cutting Hylla off.

Sharp gasps of surprise and outrage filled the air around Annabeth. “Bastard,” said a man in di Angelo livery and spat at Bryce’s feet. A few men drew swords from their scabbards with an audible snick. Bryce’s face only brightened at the ire he had inspired. A hiss of rage came from behind Annabeth, fury was working its way through the crowd.

“Escort our guest into my solar,” commanded Hylla softly to the guards standing behind her. “Now,” she added when they stood there reluctantly for a second.

Jason’s shoulders had sagged, he looked weary when he passed Annabeth to follow the guards. For a few seconds, she did not know what to do; she stood paralysed as people pushed past her, a hindrance to their path. Annabeth’s mind supplied her with pictures of her home burnt to a husk, Magnus lying dead in the woods he loved so, the owl of her banner fluttering away to darkness.

A particularly rough push grounded her, brought her back to the present. As life seeped back into her bones, Annabeth turned on her heels and walked towards the solar. What lay ahead, she did not know, but she knew that this war was likely to be the death of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, reviews are always welcome.


	10. Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bits and pieces from the nine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trying something new. So, kindly bear with me.

Piper woke up disoriented and shivering, she could see the white puff of her breath in the freezing air of the cave. The wood-fire Michael had lit the night before had almost burnt out, the remaining embers giving off a few reluctant wisps of smoke when poked at. The heavy cloak draped over her did very little to stop the cold from stealing into her bones. In the grey light of dawn, Piper could see the knight sleeping across the dead fire, his scruffy face slack and peaceful.

It irritated her. “Wake up, Mike,” she snapped.

His elegantly arched brows twitched, but he did not wake. Piper let out a huff, travelling with Ser Michael with half the kingdom at their backs had been exhausting. Her nerves were frayed, every swish of a branch, every fall of a leaf made her jump; and while she had not slept properly for a sennight, Michael slept like a bear in winter, probably dreaming of wispy whores feeding him grapes.

He chose that moment to let out a soft, contented sigh.

Piper had an over-whelming urge to stab him repeatedly. So she did the wise thing and left the cave, blade strapped securely to her waist.

Outside, the sun was just starting to peak out from behind the distant hills, orange glow low on the horizon. A few birds had started their enthusiastic songs, but their cheer did not bother Piper nearly as much as Ser Michael’s did.

She closed her eyes and dragged in a few slow breaths of the frigid air, trying to calm herself, trying will away the thoughts of murdering her cousin.

_He is a good man_ , she reminded herself firmly. _He is your only ally here_.

When Piper opened her eyes again, she felt better.

She had dreamt of him again, his calm blue eyes staring into her soul. Golden hair a halo around his head. He had been talking to her, smiling with the warmth of a thousand hearths. His soothing voice was low in her ear. She missed the heat of his palms on her waist, the careful way in which he arranged his belongings alongside hers, the small birth-mark on his elbow and the white scar above his lip. She missed his broad, pale shoulders and the grim set of his mouth, the way he swung his sword at his squire. She missed.

Piper wondered if he remembered her the way she did him. She wondered where he was, whether he liked the people around him, whether he rejoiced in killing men in the name of peace.

She imagined him standing in front of her, looking down at her like he had on the day they wed. Imagined his shock in finding her changed, imagined being shocked by the changes in him.

An aching warmth welled up in her chest then, increasing in intensity the more she thought of her lord husband, memories and dreams forming a confusing tangle.

“I have to go back,” she whispered to the wind.

* * *

  
_Dear Ty,_

  
_I have been a married man now for a moon’s turn. My lady wife, she is... She is. It is much harder being married than being alone. We are different, as different as the mountain is from the sea. But I think I like her, I know you would too._

_Her brother is another matter. Nico likes to glare intensely at me in his spare time, for no apparent reason. I tried to speak to him, but my wife urged me not to. She tells me he took Lady Maria’s death hard. She tells me about her home, about the river that flows by it, about her bright sunlit gardens. I tell her about our mother, about that cove we found when you were five. My wife and I, we talk._

_I have not told her about you._

_Someday, I will._

_Someday when there will not be a war, when the sky is clear and we can see the ocean stretch on for eternity. A good day._

_I just have to be sure, that it will not happen again. This emptiness, I do not want it. But I cannot be whole again, not yet. I have to be sure, you understand?_

_Onto better things, we are marching to Aiolia. It is quite cold here past the Misty Fork, the summer snows might fall soon. I do not belong this far north, we left the sea so many leagues behind. It is jarring and quiet without the noise of the waves and the shrieking of those silly birds._

_Lord Luke Castellan has come with us. He has a scar on his face which he got from battling a wyvern, or so he says. Most men think he got it from a skirmish with his lord father. I know which story you would believe, but I still maintain that wyverns do not exist._

_So, I told you about Lady Annabeth, right? That lady who thinks the gods put her on this earth as a blessing to all mankind. Lord Castellan has a lot of stories about her too. Their hunting trips are ‘legendary’._

_He keeps joking about me producing a legion of children soon. And that is the thing Ty, children. I cannot have children while I am still half a child. I know that I look extremely lordly and in command of my affairs, but I am really not._

_I might blow up like a cache of wildfire soon, if someone does not tell me how to do this, how to be a husband, to a very kind and witty lady, and a father._

_What would you do in my place?_

The tent flapped threateningly in the strong wind as Percy looked up from his letter, schooling his features into a neutral expression. A guard had entered his tent, and was now clearing his throat pointedly.  
“The lord Hedge is without. He is quite adamant to meet you, my lord,” he said cautiously.

Percy nodded. “Send him in.”

As the guard went out, Percy shook out the letter and glanced at it for one last time. Then he quickly set fire to it with the flame meant for melting sealing wax. By the time Lord Hedge had come in, all that remained of it was a pile of ashes.

* * *

  
The boat roiled again under Hazel’s feet, almost toppling her. The sea was getting more choppy by the minute, the dark clouds gathered in the sky trying but failing to rain water upon them. She was trying her best not to be sick. If she did throw up, the horrible stench would linger in her cabin for days on end.

There was a sharp rap on her door and Gwen came in without waiting for a reply. “Drink this,” she commanded, offering a small red vial to Hazel.

Hazel looked at it, without making a move to take it. “What is that?”

“Liquorice steeped in vinegar, with honey, sage and cloves,” recited Gwen. “It will stop the sea-sickness.”

“How...” began Hazel, before thinking better of it. She took the vial from the other woman’s hand and downed it in one go. It was sickly sweet and left a pungent after-taste. “I did not expect it to taste like that,” she said, grimacing.

Gwen smiled brightly at her. “It tastes better than vomit.”

Hazel handed the vial back to her and chose not to reply. Gwen continued without acknowledging the slight. “We are getting quite close to Pentos, you know. There are no slaves there.”

The tattoo of a single serpent coiled around a staff on her cheek proclaimed Gwen as a healer among the freedmen.

“There are no slaves in Westeros either,” said Hazel, her eyes flicking over the brand. “You should come with me.”

Gwen’s smile returned, but this time it was tired. “The Westerosi are fighting another war, Hazel. I.. I cannot escape a slavery, just to be caught up in a foreign war. You know this.”

“I know you have decided that in Braavos lies all your dreams,” Hazel snapped back.

“Yes, I have,” Gwen said, her voice heavy with certainty.

Hazel shook her head. “A healer is needed where there are the wounded. Would you not be most useful in a war?”

“And which side would I heal for? Your brother’s? Will he take us up at your word?” asked Gwen testily.

The doubt which had been churning in Hazel’s gut since she left Volantis flared at her words. She did not know her half brother and sister. All she knew was that the only family she had left was in Darkriver Fort. If they did not have a home for her, Hazel did not know what she would do. Maybe go to Braavos, like Gwen.

“Well?” asked the freedwoman, doubt coloring her tone.

Hazel tried to rein in her own mess of emotions. “I am sure Lady Trivia will find a use for us if he does not.”

Gwen threw her a long and searching look. “Don’t talk like that, my lady. You’re much too sweet to scare me.”

* * *

  
The words blurred in front of his eyes as Jason tried to focus on them. The letter said something about swords, or maybe ships. They did have ships, he remembered that. Exhaustion weighed heavy on his eyelids. He blinked in another attempt to focus, but it was futile. Another blink and he was dead to the world.

Jason did not know how long he had been sleeping when he woke abruptly to a sharp poke. Nico stood over him, looking exasperated.  
“Why are you sleeping in the solar in broad daylight?” he asked, eyebrows crinkling into a scowl.

Jason yawned up at him. “Why does anyone do anything?”

The corner of Nico’s mouth gave a little spasm but he pinned Jason with a serious look. “Bianca sent me a raven. She says they almost reached the Misty Fork, the Aire scouts have spotted them and...”

Under the bright sunlight coming through the open windows, Nico’s pale skin glowed as he talked. In his dark blue doublet and jet black hair, he looked like a stranger come from across the Narrow Seas. Maybe a sellsword, with his dark blade and his large calloused hands. Jason could even see the slight bulge of muscles on his exposed forearms, and the dark brown of his eyes.

Nico cleared his throat, exasperated expression dropping back onto his face. “The day is made duller by your inattention,” he tartly observed.

Jason blinked blearily and snapped his gaze away from the shiny silver ring on Nico’s finger. “I apologize, my lord,” he placated. “What were you saying?”

“Never mind that now. It’s a beautiful day. Come, we shall take a walk,” said Nico, already making for the doors. When reached them, he paused and looked expectantly at Jason.

Jason shook off the last vestiges of his cat-nap as he followed the other lord into the busy corridor.

A hush had fallen over the occupants of the keep since Lord Bryce had come, and it still prevailed. The hand-maidens’ chatter was now subdued. The squires polished their lords’ armour with a mulish expression with no easy humour behind it. The tiny messengers who scurried everywhere were quiet as mice. The guards stood tall and cautious, stoically surveying their surroundings.

Sometimes Jason could hear it, the silence, loud in his ears, drowning out all sound. It was a malicious thing, bent on wiping the world clean of sentiments.

The god’s wood was almost empty when they stepped into it. There was someone chanting rhythmically, Jason could not see him but hear only a low hum of prayer among the ancient trees.

Nico sat down on a small wooden bench and turned his face up at the azure sky with a sigh. Jason sat by his side, and ran his along the bottom of the bench, trying to find where Reyna had carved her initials a long time ago.

“At home, we never stayed indoors on such days,” began Nico, almost conspiratorially. “Bianca and I would go fishing with Charon - he was a sworn knight to our father, born to a fisherman. He rowed our little boat out into the current and let us fish with small worms on our rods. Bi sometimes caught lampreys but I never in my life caught one.”

A comfortable silence followed his words in which Jason was filled with an inexplicable warmth. This silence felt like something new and heady.

“Not even a small one?” Jason asked after a while, teasing.

When Nico shot him with a look of utter betrayal, he dissolved into a fit of breathless laughter.

* * *

  
Leo had just opened the thick vellum scroll, when there was a plaintive meow from the bottom of the sun-drenched steps. He peered over the sheet to find a house cat watching him with muddy green eyes. It had pure white fur and ears too big for its head. As Leo watched, it meowed again, almost inaudibly.

“I don’t have any food for you,” he said, staring straight at the cat.

It let out another pathetic meow, staring right back.

“No, do not look at me like that. I didn’t know you were going to be here,” Leo pleaded.

The cat took a step towards him and sniffed the tip of his boot cautiously, nose twitching.

He rolled up the scroll again, there was going to be no reading when there was a strange, big-eared cat hovering around. Then he reached out a hand, letting the cat sniff it, before stroking its silky white head. It purred, sounding less pathetic, now that it had his attention.

“What shall we name you then?” Leo asked, cooing and picking it up to place it on his lap. It looked up at him and blinked, looking surprised. He stroked a careful hand across its spine and the cat purred from deep within its throat, stretching luxuriously. Then it curled up in a tight ball and proceeded to fall asleep.

“Sneaky,” Leo decided out loud, watching the cat snore lightly on his lap.

Later when he went down to the Great Hall for his meal, Sneaky - the cat was definitely a she – trailed after Leo. If he tried to pick her up, she nipped at his fingers, so he left her alone.

Annabeth stared curiously at the cat as Leo sat down beside her. “Where did you get a cat?”

“Annabeth meet Sneaky, the cat who loves napping in my lap. Sneaky, this is Lady Annabeth Chase,” Leo introduced extravagantly.

“Sneaky?” asked Annabeth, snickering.

Leo shrugged. The cat climbed into Leo’s lap, making her laugh harder. Lord di Angelo aimed a glance at them from across the hall, but went back to his conversation with Lady Hylla quickly.

“She’s quite the cat,” Annabeth said after she had sobered up. “Her ears are almost exactly like yours.”

Leo snorted. “Is that your way of calling me catty, my lady?”

“I would never,” she replied, grinning.

* * *

  
Frank was high above the ground, a cold breeze surrounded him, which was a far cry from the oppressive air of his shared cell. The wind ruffled his feathers and glided under his wings.

A bronze eagle with a pristine coat let out a trilling shriek and flew by him, its wings hardly flapping. A flock of crows followed it, croaking viciously. A murder, someone whispered.

Frank flew forward, away from them, as fast as he could. Away from the lambent golden keep, away from the north, away from the growing pool of blood. The cold winds receded behind him, as did the boiling anger which drove him.

When he swooped low to the ground next, Frank was many leagues away, in the territory of the phoenix where another eagle roosted. Laughter echoed in corners of the land, keeping the prickly ghosts at bay. The dark hellhound surrounded by shadows growled at him, so Frank spiralled up again, leaving him to his guard.

He followed a river south. In it the little fish swam merrily, scattering like dandelion fluff if approached by a larger one. Alongside them slithered green-eyed serpents, away from the slumbering monster, maybe on errands for him or just out of fear.

There were bears in the woods beside the flowing stream, growling at the passing creatures and searching for prey, and scavengers who hungered for the dead. The men were afraid of such beasts, but Frank knew to dread men only.

The sea came up quite suddenly. Sea-gulls squawked at him furiously and wind rolled off the ocean in droves, ringing hollowly in the empty keep and fluttering banners, blue, grey, gold, green and red. The air smelt like lightning, a cluster of dark clouds already on the horizon, but weak rays of sunshine still lingered.

The lord who lived there was gone, he would be gone for a long time to come. He was teetering, at the edge of something Frank could not see, far away in an icy land.

Frank veered east then, towards the other lands. He encountered the lost dove on his way, but he did not stop. “I have to go back,” she said from behind him.

The faraway cry of the southern wolf came to him, a frantic call. But Frank knew of the orc who clutched at his realm. Nothing could be done for them now.

The sea on the other shore was warmer, bordering on hot. The rotten smell of death reeked from parts of it and others churned with squalls of swirling rain. The lone hound trapped on the sea, he could see her fighting with herself. She had a choice to make, the morphing, shifting entity beside her made sure of that.

But the whisperings got fainter the farther he went. He was fleeing, he realised. From his kingdom, his home, his duty, from himself.

Frank woke up then, and he knew someone was coming.

* * *

  
The sun was low on the horizon, when Annabeth knocked on the door of what had become the prince’s solar.

“You may enter,” came his voice from within.

Inside the room, a fire had been lit and the window shut tight. Jason sat at his desk, scratching out a letter with alacrity.

“My lady,” he greeted as she entered, sounding less subdued than he had in weeks.

Annabeth hated to destroy this newfound cheer, but it was necessary. The matter had been preying on her mind for a moon’s turn now. The news of the lost battle and the captured or dead lords had only sought to strengthen her resolve to broach it.

“My lord,” Annabeth greeted back, settling into a chair and exhaling with inevitability.

Jason looked up from his letter. “Is there something you wish to discuss?”

She wanted to snap at him, obviously she wished to discuss something. But instead she inclined her head, as calmly as she could.

Jason put down his quill and set the letter aside. “What is it, my lady?” he asked, voice purposefully light.

“Do you know how house Delphin ended?” Jason opened his mouth, but Annabeth continued without stopping for a reply. “Lady Terra attacked Lord Triton’s keep with all of the twelve armies that backed her. His only son and heir, Agenor was out at sea, with no ravens and no connection to land. The lady being who she was, waited for him and his defeated lord father waited, hoping that she would forgive him for Triton’s own misdeeds. But when Agenor returned, Lady Terra cut off his head in front of his father and hung it from the ramparts for all to see. Lord Triton was forced to look at his son’s severed head, until only the skull remained, upon which his head took its place.”

Jason had remained quiet through all of her tale, his eyes became icier by the second until Annabeth thought they could freeze Lys. “Thank you for enlightening me, my lady. But was there a point to this spontaneous history lesson?” he asked after she had finished.

Annabeth smiled grimly. “The point is, my lord, the greatest asset in a war is an heir. The king went to great lengths to get one. You must too.”

“Correct me if I am wrong, but did they both not die in your story?” Jason countered.

This Annabeth had expected. “They did, but Lord Triton had hope. Without it, he would never have had the courage to save almost a thousand of his soldiers from certain death.”

Jason sighed. He remained stock still for some long minutes, staring at Annabeth without saying a word. Then, he sighed again. “I don’t want to talk about this,” he said.

“Why not, my lord? We are losing. If you die, who will lead us?” asked Annabeth, disappointment already stirring in her gut.

“There will always be a leader among men, my lady,” Jason’s low voice answered. “Speak your mind. You are concerned about the throne.”

She sighed, fiddling with a loose thread on her sleeve. “I am.”

“Then I cannot help,” said the prince with finality.

* * *

  
The darkness fell suddenly, like a cloak draped over the sky. A crisp, cold breeze ran through the open halls of the castle and over the balcony where Nico stood. The balcony smelled of some unknown flower and a whispered conversation among two maids drifted up to him.

“....in his bed-chamber,” said one.

The other voice gasped.

“She just lay there naked as her name-da...” the rest of the sentence was carried off by the wind.

Nico grimaced. But loose-lipped servants were the least of his concerns. His thoughts drifted, an anchorless ship.

Lady Hylla had said that she was going to save her sister, by any means. She was trying to convince him, to persuade him into conceding to her wishes. But Nico had assured her that he agreed whole-heartedly. Lady Hylla had seemed surprised, but recovered quickly and went back to discussing army provisions. Casks of salted mutton and cod, sacks of flour and wheels of dry cheese.

Hylla’s sister led him into thinking about his own sister, who was off with her lord husband, alone in a foreign land. Nico did not know whether he liked Lord Jackson. He was a powerful ally and a good swordsman, some might even call him great. But his sea-green eyes seemed to be hiding things, murky secrets altogether untouched by the light of day.

A large fire had started among the tents of their army. The red god was being worshipped in the Skylands with a fervour Nico usually connected to whoring.

_Lord cast your light upon us as the night is dark and full of terrors_. That was their prayer. Hundreds of faces turned to a fire, with burning, scorching faith – with the Red Priest at their helm.

Jason had told him of the man, his fell prophecies and fanatical followers. Nico’s sword, Lord Octavian had said, was to kill the king. Nico di Angelo was to kill King Zeus.

The night the prince had come into his tent to tell Nico, had been the night after which a curious familiarity had developed between them. He did not know if Jason noticed it or cared enough to, but it was there – a living thing breathing down Nico’s neck.

It should have been difficult, this alliance. Nico usually hated the ideal, perfection had always been a jape to him. But it was laughably easy, it was the easiest thing Nico had done since the beginning of the war.

The clearing of someone’s throat jarred him. He looked around to find the man on his mind standing at his door, as if pulled by Nico’s thoughts. Nico walked swiftly into his room, closing the large windows behind him.

“I,” Jason said and stopped.

Nico looked questioningly at him, taking in the paler than usual skin and weary, hopeless eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Jason shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What is wrong he asks. Everything, Nico. There is not a thing that is right.”

“Oh?” he asked.

Jason gave him a frustrated look. “Lady Chase presumes too much.”

“Annabeth does what she thinks best. There is no use in complaining,” snapped Nico, aggravating himself. “Did you want me to reprimand her? Is that what you expect of me?”

Jason looked at him then, with his paradoxical blue eyes, and stared as if he had never seen Nico before. “No,” he replied, haltingly. “I expect...”

“What?” challenged Nico.

“I expect you.”

* * *

  
Frank’s soft breathing seemed impossibly loud in Reyna’s ear. He was sleeping, she knew. Staying in a cell with a man revealed many details that she had no previous wish to know.

Reyna herself could not sleep steadily for a long period, it was that way since her childhood. She always slept in fitful, moody bursts in no discernible pattern, anywhere and everywhere. This trait had come in handy during the last war, but in this one, it made her feel like a wraith, a flesh and blood ghost in a sleeping world.

Her sister had disapproved of it, but there was little Hylla approved of. Riding leathers at mealtimes, Reyna’s single braid, the spears she broke while practicing, her love for mangy dogs and on and on. But she was the best sister one could hope for, that much Reyna knew.

She reached for the water pouch, fingers scrambling on rough stone. Her mind wanted to conjure up spectres to keep her company, but Reyna was not eager to share her dark cell with one more person.

“I don’t want to die here.” She was talking to herself again.

“I know.”

“Where is Lady Piper, do you think?”

“Hopefully with Jason.”

“And where is Jason?”

“Hopefully not in a similar cell.”

“Hopefully?”

“What else is there but hope?”

“Hatred, death, vengeance, duty, courage, the stink of shit and sweat and the crushing weight of failure to name a few.”

“When will this war end?”

“Before or after your life ends.”

“Before or after?”

“Time is a fickle thing. It fucks us all, but how? No one knows.”

“How will you die?”

“You mean, how do I want to?”

“With a sword in my hand, not in a bloody Grace dungeon.”

“Why could you not be a normal lady?”

“Nobody is normal.”

“You really cannot say that.”

“I am sure of it. All the smiling ladies and the noble knights, they are only pretending. I am being myself.”

“Are you?”

She stopped to contemplate her own question, but was interrupted by a the clink of the ring turning in the keyhole. Dread filled Reyna, but she sat quiet, barely breathing. The door opened and clanged shut, softly. Then a lantern was lit, slowly, clumsily in the dark.

A lady appeared in the pool of yellow light, just as Frank sat up with a gasp.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That is it. All of it. Tell me if you hated it (or liked it). Tell me which was your favorite and/or least favorite.
> 
> Happy Holidays. Spread the cheer by reviewing ;)


	11. Words are Futile Devices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason does some stupid and possibly brave stuff.

“No. I expect...”

Nico stood just out of Jason’s reach, a frustrated rage welling up in him like blood from a wound. “What?” he snapped. He had just come from the balcony outside, with wind-ruffled hair and flushed cheeks. His eyes were pools of black, wreathed in shadow.

“I expect you,” Jason said before he could stop himself.

Nico’s scathing eyes looked up at his. “What are you saying, my lord?” he asked in a voice that was deceptively calm.

The wind was picking up outside, the balcony doors burst open and the curtains flapped around listlessly. For his part, Jason did not look away. Two could play that game.  
“I think you know, Nico.”

The anger in his eyes shored up and then receded. He looked down at his ring, twisting it absent-mindedly, and took two steps back. Jason stood where he was, watching, waiting, hoping. It had been coming for months, he had felt it in his bones. It might have even been his destiny - the sole purpose of his life - if he were some common boy. But he wasn’t, neither of them was at liberty to chase it to the ends of the earth. This life would have to do.

When Nico looked up again, his skin had gone milky pale. “There is _nothing_ to know,” he said in a low voice, as if he feared being overheard.

Jason stepped forward and gripped his left hand firmly. Nico stared at their hands like they confused him. “Not yet,” said Jason, matching Nico’s tone.

“You have a wife, my lord. How could you...” his dazed voice trailed off, but he stood still.

Jason snorted bitterly. “A wife who is likely buried in an unmarked grave.”

“You can’t know that.”

Annabeth’s drawn face flashed in his mind. An heir, she had said, the greatest asset in a war was an heir. A child from his lost wife.

Jason had tried, he tried so many times to picture Piper. She was there in his memories, fading fast like a flower past its prime. Her glimmering eyes still looked at him, although it felt to him as if they were beseeching, asking him questions he dare not answer.

The day he left Olympus, she had stood tall with her white cape billowing behind her. Her face had been clear and withdrawn when she had looked at him and smiled. A sad, wistful smile. Her fluid musical voice echoed in Jason’s head. “I ask no promises of you, my lord,” she had said, the feathers in her hair ruffling in the wind. “But I do hope that you come back to me.”  
There was pain in the memory as well as a muted beauty of half-forgotten peace.

“No,” he told Nico.

Nico shook his head. Jason sighed and twirled the ring on Nico’s finger. It’s hard-edged curves bit into his fingers, sharp and real. His other hand crept up to clutch Nico’s free hand. An errant crow croaked outside abruptly, they paid it no mind. The curtains fluttered again and the wind snuffed out a candle.

“I should....” Nico began shrugging vaguely. Jason did not let him finish his thought.

“I have had a lot of time to think about this, it’s not some childish fancy of mine,” he said, willing Nico not to move, to _stay_ and to listen. “You are not... When this war began, you were a zealot, a buggering savage who was invading my home; at least that was what I told myself. When I met you, you were a stern lord, you did not mince your words and you did not flinch away. But now, now you are _you_. And I _know_ you as I am you.”

Nico stared at him wordlessly. Jason did not know for how long, he felt suspended in time - living that single moment over and over again caught in Nico’s fractured gaze. The loop snapped closed when Nico finally nodded. Then he let go of Jason and wrapped his arms securely around Jason’s waist.

“You know what I think?” he whispered in Jason’s ear, tilting his head up.

“Hm?” queried Jason, a dizzying mixture of shock and elation coursing through his veins, his own arms coming up to Nico’s shoulders.

“I think you talk too much.”

He heard the smile in Nico’s voice and smiled in turn. “I do?” he murmured. “What else do you think about me?”

A puff of weary breath on his neck. “That you are a fool to think something good will come of this.”

“You know there was a time when calling me names was treasonous,” Jason said mildly.

Nico emitted a soft surprised laugh. “Treason, eh?” he whispered, eyes glazed in thought.

Jason shifted his arms to the softly curling black hair at the nape of his neck. The flickering lights of a dozen candles cast strange shadows on the walls, on the smooth planes of Nico’s face. He traced them with his eyes, following the trail of warm light. When he looked back up, Nico was staring at him, an eyebrow raised in challenge.  
“Well?”

The kiss was everything and nothing like Jason had imagined. There was a viciousness to it, like the soft scraping of the keen edge of a blade. His ears filled with a rush of noise, howling against the silence.

Jason’s lips were tingling pleasantly by the time they separated and a flush had warmed his neck. Nico’s slightly smirking face came into focus once he stepped back a bit. There was a surreal quality to him now, Jason thought, as if the edges of reality had been blurred.

“Today is a good day,” said Nico, dark eyes bright.

“Yes,” he replied, charmed. “Yes, it is.”

* * *

  
The Great Hall was sparsely filled. Lord McLean sat opposite Jason, eating his meal in small controlled bites. His dove embroidered surcoat was too rich for his surroundings. Even if Lord Tristan did not make it apparent, Bryce Lawrence’s appearance had affected him favourably. He revelled in his daughter’s escape, unmindful of others’ plight.

“How goes the search, my lord?” Jason asked half-heartedly.

“Not bad,” replied the man, pausing his actions to cast an appraising eye on him. “There was a report of two travellers, a lady and a knight, near Gullport. I think they are following the coast.”

Jason nodded. “I see.” He chewed the meat in his mouth thoughtfully for a while and said, “Are you sure it’s them?”

“There is no way to be sure, Jason. But I sent a hundred men on their trail, so we will know for sure soon.”

Jason nodded again and resumed his meal. The hope which shone through the other man’s eyes was dangerous. Jason could not bear it for long; when Hylla entered the hall, he invited her to sit with him.

Hylla was as she always had been, a stern-faced woman with unshakeable might and stony courage. Her sister was much like her, in looks and in nature, except Reyna had hope in people while Hylla had all her hope bound in her family.

“My lord,” she greeted Lord Tristan politely.

The lord smiled and said, “If you would excuse me. My castellan gets very anxious if I don’t write him ever so often.” He walked away swiftly without sparing them a backward glance.

“At least one of us is happy,” said Hylla in a bitterly amused voice.

He hesitated for a moment, not sure how to proceed. “I would not call him happy,” he said warily.

“No?” Hylla tilted her head slightly. “I would.”

“I can’t speak for him.”

Hylla smiled. “I can see that. I can also see that you are not as joyful as you should be upon hearing news of your wife.”

Jason let out a soft sound of agreement and looked around the hall. Lady Annabeth and Lord Torrington sat in one shaded corner, talking softly. Dakota Vine japed with a few of his knights, creating a racket. There were others who flitted around tables, but nobody of import.

“Anybody in their right mind knows that all happiness is misplaced in war,” said Jason, leaning forward to prevent anyone from listening in.

Some of the acidity went out of Hylla; at least she knew that her sister was alive, if not well. “Jason, surely you don’t think that Lady McLean is...” she said.

“I have no way of knowing.”

Hylla’s hand came to his shoulder, she squeezed comfortingly. Jason looked at her searchingly and then looked away.

* * *

  
Maester Dinlas was small man and his pale features were delicately structured giving him a fragile, childish look. His grey wool robes fit him ill, making him look even younger. Jason knew he was middle-aged but he looked no older than five and twenty.

“A raven come from Aiolia, my lord,” he said from where he stood in the shadowed solar and handed Jason a small fold of paper sealed with a ocean-blue wax.

Jason thanked him and got up. “Was there anything else, maester?” he asked absent-mindedly, already walking to large pair of doors. Nico would want news of his sister.

The small man hesitated. “Yes?” Jason prompted.

“I might have something for you that I found quite by accident. Only...”

“Only?” Jason prompted again with one hand on the open door, his impatience and his curiosity warring against each other.

“Never mind, my lord. I shall bring it you when I know for certain that it is original,” said the maester and set off down the hall without waiting for a response.

Jason watched him go, puzzled. Then he slowly walked in the direction of Lord di Angelo’s solar. The polished stones of the floor clicked under his boots. Dozens of braziers lined the thick walls, most of them unlit. The castle was familiar and grounding to him, he sometimes felt himself slipping through time – transported to long days of endless sparing and history lessons.

Nico’s door was old and scratched, it opened quickly when Jason knocked. Nico offered him a half-smile and returned to his seat behind the table.

“Lord Jackson sent a raven,” said Jason, closing the door firmly behind him.

“What does it say?”

Jason sank into his chair and pulled the tightly rolled letter out of his pocket. The horse and frothy sea of the Jackson seal broke apart under his fingers. Inside was Percy’s messy scrawl. He read aloud:

_We caught two airs and their men. The river takes us back now. Not long._

“Well, that went as expected,” said Nico, taking the scrap of paper from his hands and inspecting it. “Nothing from her,” he informed Jason after a while.

The day had been long, Lady Annabeth had visited him again with her plea. He knew that she wanted him to name an heir, any heir – blood relations be damned.

“We still don’t know how many men they bring.”

Nico shrugged. “We shall know soon enough.” There was a note of finality in his voice.

Jason studied the table in front of him, choosing not to address Nico. It contained an empty goblet, a few rolls of paper, a cup of sealing wax over a flame, two quills and an hourglass. Nico’s dark sword was lying at one end, the scabbard hiding its infernal glory.

“Jason...”

He felt slightly sick. “What?”

“We have to go as soon as they come back.” Nico’s face was creased in worry when Jason looked at him.

“You don’t have to do it, you know.” Jason could picture the scene in his head. Nico’s kind face black with rage, plunging a blade into the king. Dripping blood and cold dead eyes.

“Yes, I do.”

Later that night, when nothing stirred and the insistent chirping of crickets was the only sounds, when there were fingers in his hair and warm lips at his throat, Jason felt himself drowning. There were vivid colours behind his closed eyelids and his hands traced the ragged lines on Nico’s back.

“Hey...” he whispered, low enough that for a second he thought he imagined having said it.

Nico pulled away, his arms bracketing Jason’s head, and looked at him – a question forming in his eyes. “Something wrong?”

“You know what I’m going to say.”

Nico lowered his head. “Then don’t say it,” he mumbled against Jason’s shoulder.

“I can’t let you ruin your life like this,” said Jason. His throat felt dry, but his voice was steady.

Nico sighed from deep within his lungs. His lips were sugar-sweet when he kissed Jason, soft, slow and pleading. Jason grasped his arms tight and kissed him back.

There was sadness writ large on his features when Nico pulled back for breath. “I’m sorry,” he whispered before kissing Jason again.

* * *

  
“That is _it_ ,” Octavian shouted. “My lord, either he goes or I go.”

Lord Alabaster Torrington stared back at him and made no move to defend himself. His cat-like green eyes held a certain superiority, as if he knew more than the rest. Jason’s headache flared up again and he could feel a frustrated irritation building up in the room.

No one spoke until Lady Gardener’s soothing voice interrupted the silence. “As long as we fight for the light, does it really matter which gods are with us?” She sat at one corner of the table in a forest green dress. The Gardeners were Jackson bannermen, one of the only ones left in the camp.

Lady Annabeth nodded at her words, expression set. Her curly hair hung loose around her face, gold upon the dull grey of her tunic.

“I don’t imagine the new gods are all too thrilled,” said Leo. “We are fighting against their king, after all. The king could maim, kill and destroy everyone and still the high priest would worship the ground he walks on.”

Octavian let out a sneering laughter. “The Lord of Light sees all, my lord. Your fake gods will burn before him.”

“I think enough men have been burned in this war,” said Hylla’s stern voice. She was pacing the length of the room, impatience pouring out of her in droves. “We need an end to the fighting. The gods won’t do that for us, we have to do it ourselves. So, stop your braying. We have a war to win.”

“Oh? Will you win us our freedom, my lady?”

Hylla stopped walking, stung. A gleaming malice overcame the red priest’s manner. “You couldn’t even keep your own sister safe from captivity. She whiles away in a lightless dungeon as we speak; how can you save us?” he piled on.

Jason’s temper quickened. Sometimes he wished he was as mad as his father, so that he could plead insanity to escape into his bed-chamber. “Lord Octavian, I know you do not understand peace, it is not of a fiery nature. But I ask you to bear with us or leave.”

The man leant back in his chair, the corners of his mouth stiff, scowl permanently in place. Hylla’s unreadable expression remained in place.

“That was quite the show.” Jason heard someone murmur.

“Let us not waste any more time. Where is that map of Olympus with the passages?” asked Nico, breaking the uneasy silence which had settled upon them.

“Passages?” inquired Leo as Jason rummaged around the pile of scrolls. Grey light streamed in through the open windows and a balmy heat was settling in. Drapes hung limply in their posts and the war plans had not gone far from when they began two long hours ago.

“Secret passages underneath the Gold Keep?” Annabeth asked. “I have heard of them. They were built by the second Perseus during the Rhoynar invasion.”

“Presumably,” murmured Lord Alabaster.

The map was old, the maester had found in one of the abandoned halls where only a pile of scrap remained. How it had ended up in Greatspear was a mystery but apparently, they were in luck.

“They run all over the Gold Keep, into towers and under courtyards. But this map is one of five similar ones, put together they give us the whole map of all the passages,” Jason explained.

“Where did you find it?” asked Octavian.

Nico threw Jason a look that described everything Jason was feeling as Alabaster reiterated, “Does it matter where?”

“Uh, no. Nonetheless how can we be sure that the map was not forged?” Leo jumped in before things could escalate further.

Jason’s headache was thumping insistently at his skull. “Because I’ve been there, my lord.”

Lady Gardener nodded forcefully at his words and then frowned. “There is only a part of the map here. I can’t imagine it will help us much.”

The beginnings of a wind blew in through the windows, almost shyly. Jason looked out at the clouds covering the blue of the skies.

“This map gives the way into the armory and former queen’s quarters,” said Nico. He looked washed out, like he had looked on the day they had arrived at Greatspear. Jason remembered his tight-lipped disapproval and his snapping, half-winded aloofness. When Hylla had spoke to him in the fire-lit room, Jason had felt the weight of Nico’s gaze, as he had Annabeth’s. A moon’s turn and another half had passed since that day, it almost seemed a lifetime to Jason.

“We just have to get into the keep, the dungeons can be reached easily once we are inside,” reasoned Hylla.

When Octavian scoffed from his seat, Jason fought to keep the scowl off his face. “Who are we exactly? Who shall go with you, my lady?”

Jason’s eyes returned to the clouds. He could not look at Nico, not when he knew what came next.

“It will be me,” said Nico, his voice sounding distant but fierce to Jason’s ears. “After all, it is my sword that you need.”

Jason’s heart felt constricted, too big for his ribcage. There was no stepping back after this. He faced them all abruptly, his face still and blank. “And I shall accompany them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is taken from 'Futile Devices' by Sufjan Stevens (check that out if you want). I apologise for keeping y'all hanging for almost 4 months, a lot of serious real life matters came up. Anyway, to the one or two people still reading, I say, tell me what you thought of that.


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